Hypotheticals
by JohnQKole
Summary: My collection of Non-Canon Caskett stories. Each story features a what-if scenario about this pairing and different times their relationship could have taken a turn toward the romantic. 2 Complete Stories: "Flowers for your Confusion" &"The Conspiracy." Began posting new seasons as separate stories marked as part of the series.
1. Flowers for your Confusion Part 1 of 3

A/N—So this is clearly not in canon.

I tried to stay true to their characters as they were in each season and episode. Since this is the pilot, I tried to closely mirror character behavior back then. I will try not to let it diverge too strongly, but obviously it's a departure from the real storyline. I hope you'll forgive this foray into mildly AU stories.

I really enjoy going back and seeing how they were, and how things changed.

The first is a two-part story.

* * *

 **Season 1 Non-Canon**

 **Near the end of the pilot (before the final scene in Montgomery's office)**

 **Multi-perspective**

 **Flowers for your Confusion Part 1 of 2**

Castle certainly doesn't have a perfect track record, but he isn't shot down by women all that often. And as he sees Kate Beckett walking away after saying their "final" goodbyes for the _second_ time, he knows he has to figure out a way to keep their story going. He's known her a few short days, and that simply isn't enough. This isn't how it ends, it just can't be.

Usually, he can charm his way into a woman's favor, at least enough to get a date, and in those rare instances when he can't, he quickly cuts his losses and moves on. He can't tell why, but this time, the woman is worth a little extra effort.

* * *

Beckett is damn tired, and all she wants is to finish her paperwork and go home. Cases can be draining, but having to deal with that idiot writer made it so much worse. He is absolutely exhausting, a pig, a womanizer, a small-time bad boy who thinks he is funny and charming.

She reminds herself that she's disgusted by him, trying to dismiss the twinges of excitement she felt more than once when he was near her. That is the thing that really bugs her, she doesn't _want_ to find him attractive. And she doesn't…mostly. Her rational mind and her self-respect abhor him, despise everything he stands for, but her body and her hormones don't seem to understand the objection. It is infuriating, feeling irate and captivated at the same time. She takes a cleansing breath and reminds herself that it doesn't matter because he is gone, out of her life. Forever.

Kate also had the satisfaction of having the last word, something she suspects few people get with Mr. Richard Castle. She could feel the jolt of exhilaration that emanated from him when she whispered, 'You have no idea,' in his ear. After his constant flirting and suggestiveness, he was the one drooling over her. "I won," she says aloud and alone at her desk, trying to bask in her victory.

Typically after closing a big case she has a few days off. She plans on sleeping and sitting in silence for at least the next 24 hours.

She leaves the station when she's done and goes directly for the corner store so she can get a decent bottle of wine and a salad. She is going to soak in her tub, drink her wine, and fall asleep curled up in her coziest robe while her skin is still warm from her bath.

In line at the store, wine in one hand and pre-packaged salad in the other, she hears that voice. Closing her eyes and shaking her head, she hopes it's paranoia. But she hears it again, and notes that it's drawing closer. All at once, she is repulsed and excited.

He grabs the base of her bottle while her fingers are locked on its neck, refusing to let go of her prize. He critiques the label and inquires loudly, "You call _that_ a bottle of wine?"

"Castle!" she nearly cries, "Go. Away."

"Don't you think New York's finest deserves a finer bottle of wine?"

"It's good. I like it and it doesn't break the bank."

"Good? It's barely serviceable. Try this one," he suggests, handing her a different bottle.

Just one look and she says, "So you're here to rub it in my face that even though my job is more important to society than yours, I make a tiny percentage of what you make?"

He isn't offended, pondering for a moment and then replying, "It's interesting, really. You think _your_ job is more important to society, where as some people, I'm not saying me, but some _experts,_ would argue that literature is a manifestation of civilization itself, as well as a result of it."

She half rolls her eyes, too tired for full exasperation. "Like the water and diamond paradox," she concedes, "water is necessary to sustain life, and costs little. Diamonds are completely unnecessary, but highly priced."

"Huh," he gloats, "I'm the diamond in this scenario? Thank you. Really it's difficult to compare the importance of things that are significant to humanity in such different ways. Vastly different, but, yet, our worlds can intertwine if we allow them to. Maybe the lesson to be learned is that truly beneficial things happen when our worlds co-mingle."

She turns in line to face him, wondering how in the hell it is possible that it is taking so long to get to the front of the queue.

"Why are you here?" she asks. After all that paperwork and this case, she is completely spent, and she doesn't have the patience for his bullshit.

"I was thinking…What if we take this bottle of wine, the one that won't leave you with a tinny aftertaste tonight or a horrid headache tomorrow…and debate the whole cops versus writers, diamonds versus water thing over dinner. My treat."

"Dinner and wine?"

"Yes."

"Sounds like the date I already turned you down for earlier, doesn't it?"

"I said 'debate' not 'date.' You may want to consult with your favorite otologist about that hearing problem."

She places her packaged dinner and bottle of wine on the counter to pay for it, and Castle adds his bottle. "I'm not paying for that one," she tells the clerk.

"I've got it," Castle announces, grabbing jerky and a chocolate bar from the mini-shelf near the register and flashing a grin as he hands over a large bill.

"You're lecturing me on wines but you eat that crap?" Kate gripes as she takes only her bottle in hand.

Castle quickly hurries after her when she tries to disappear while he finishes his transaction. He takes her bottle of her wine from her hand, opens it because it's a screw-top, and shakes his head with disapproval. He takes a big slug of it, and makes a horrified face accompanied by a mock gag. "This is for your own good," he explains before he pours the contents into a storm drain.

"I could arrest you for that!" she yells at him.

"I think we've already established that I have friends in high places. But…I think we've also established that I'm more than happy to play with you and your handcuffs. I'm game if you are."

"This whole thing actually works on some women? Says a lot about the woman who typically interest you."

"Come on…one meal. Or maybe you're afraid you won't be able to resist me? I get that a lot."

"Can't resist shooting you, maybe," she sarcastically counters, proud of her retort.

"I don't usually ask twice."

"So three times is pretty much impossible?"

"Pretty much."

"Good. Then that means we're almost done here."

"One dinner. Good wine. It's not a date, it's…curiosity."

"Why?"

"I'm fun. And you're miserable. You seem like you could use a little excitement. I think, if you give me a chance, I can put a smile on that gorgeous face…along with a few other, more interesting expressions," he says as he steps very close, close enough to kiss her without having to lean much farther.

"Keep standing in my space," she taunts, "I've been doing a lot of close quarter combat training, and I'd love to see what my latest move could do to your testicles."

"Tempting," he begins to tease, but she turns and starts walking down the street.

He lightly jogs after her with his bottle of wine, holding it out for her.

She stops, turns toward him, and says, "This is important enough to you to ask twice, even three times, but when I ask why, you can't be serious. You're all jokes and avoidance. Have you ever considered that after having to pry information from suspects every day, I'd enjoy open and forthright conversation?"

"I don't want to make it too easy. Where's the fun in that?"

"I like men, not boys. I like a guy who isn't afraid to say what he really thinks and can talk to me without acting like a horny teenager showing off in front of his friends."

"Ouch."

"Goodbye, Castle. Again," she says, pivoting on her heels and walking swiftly away.

"You're the most interesting person I've come across in a long time," he shouts. "The truth is I'm intrigued."

She doesn't turn back to him, but stops walking so he can catch up.

He speaks, as bluntly as he can, "It's not a date. Not unless you want it to be. I mean it. You're surprising. People rarely surprise me."

During those seconds of honesty, she almost caves, because she thinks maybe there is more to this guy than bravado and pickup lines. But she decides he's probably just trying another angle to get in her pants.

"How about this…tell me what you need," he demands.

"What I _need_?" she sneers.

"You, or the precinct? What do you need that the higher ups won't buy you? Better computers, body armor? Smart board?"

"You're trying to _buy_ my time like a prostitute?"

"Do you make every man work so hard to buy you dinner, or just me?"

He flashes that smile, not the cocky one, the playful one, and that same excited twinge bounces through her. This guy is dangerous, and it both draws her in and makes her want to flee.

"It isn't prostitution," he continues when she fails to answer. "Think of it like one of those charity auctions. I'm willing to donate money to the charity of your choice and I fully understand that sex is not guaranteed. So tell me…what's the charity?"

"You think you can read me so well. You figure it out. If I agree that it's something I care about, I'll go. If not, you go away. And the charity gets to keep the money."

"Challenge accepted. I'll make reservations."

"No matter what happens or what you do, there is absolutely no way I will sleep with you. Do you understand?"

"You have my word, I will keep my hands entirely to myself. Until midnight. If you stick around after that…well I can't promise anything," there it was, that bad boy smile, lifted eyebrow, and dancing blue eyes that fill her with a combination of extreme irritation and arousal. She is starting to hate those two conflicting feelings together.

"You know what, it doesn't matter. You'll never think of something that will convince me to go. This date…will never happen."

"Saturday. I'll pick you up at 7."

Her lip curls a little at what is either his gross overconfidence or extreme optimism. "I'm not telling you where I live!"

"Fine. You pick me up at 7," he answers, still completely undeterred in spite of all of the signals she's giving him that there is absolutely no way she will EVER be interested. She starts to walk away, and hears him behind her shouting, "I'll see you Saturday night, Detective Beckett."

She waves and keeps going, eager to get away from this guy, get home, and finally unwind before she chooses to draw her weapon.

When she finally sits down with her (his) bottle of wine, she's forgotten that it is the one he picked out. She takes a sip of her glass and sighs, "Dammit," when she tastes it. As much as she didn't want to like it, she does. It is _really_ good.

* * *

Saturday morning she stretches in bed as she wakes, convincing herself that she's relieved that she hasn't heard anything from Castle. She assumes he hasn't figured out a way to win her over, or he'd be gloating by now. On some level, she is a tiny bit disappointed.

She hears a knock at the door while she's drinking her coffee a short while later. She is fully prepared to see Castle on the other side, uselessly trying to look through her peep hole, but it isn't his face she sees. She doesn't recognize the person, but she does recognize the uniform.

"Detective Kate Beckett?" the deliverywoman asks.

"Yes."

The woman holds out the packages and waits for Beckett's signature before hurrying off to her next drop.

Kate quickly takes the packages inside and puts them on her table.

She cautiously opens the first parcel, a flatter, rectangular shirt box. Inside there are a number of documents, and at the top, a handwritten note. 'If you like it, be at my door by 7 tonight. If you don't…well I'd say this is goodbye, but we both know I'm probably not going away that easily.'

Suddenly filled with a thorough burst of irritation because his note makes her chuckle, she slaps the lid down on her table. She sees documentation proving that he renegotiated and paid several medical bills for the family of a fellow officer whose wife has been fighting stage three cancer. Of course the other cops at the station do what they can to take care of their own, but the bills have been rapidly piling up.

Although Castle sent Kate the proof, the donations were not made in his name. In fact, all funds were signed by 'Your Family at the 12th.' At the very bottom of the package, he scrawled his address and the words, 'Hope to see you.'

The other package, of course, contains a dress.

* * *

Kate is in Castle's elevator, wondering what in the hell she is doing. It's not yet too late to turn back. She is playing with fire, that is certain. Taking comfort in the fact that she made the rules clear, she approaches his apartment. The door cracks open before she knocks, and she prepares for him to revel in his victory. Before she can even see him, she cautions, "No matter what happens, I will absolutely _not_ have sex with you tonight."

Her eyes fall upon the shocked gaze of Castle's mother as the door opens fully. The older woman's hand hovers over her chest with surprise, but she nods and states without missing a beat, "Well, I'll have to manage my expectations accordingly."

"I am so sorry," Kate genuinely offers. "I thought you were—"

"Oh please. It's not a problem."

"That message was meant for someone else."

"I assumed as much. I've heard far worse when answering the door for my son," Martha chuckles as she waves Kate into the apartment. "And might I say that you look radiant."

"Thank you, I—"

"Detective Beckett," Castle's daughter says as she approaches. "Hopefully this time you aren't taking my dad in for questioning?"

"Not yet," Beckett answers, "but it's hard to imagine he won't get himself in trouble at some point."

Castle's women are watching her, and Kate wonders what they think of all of this. Do they see her as his latest attempted dalliance, a faceless addition to a crowd, soon to be forgotten? Do they think maybe she's somehow different? Not that it matters, Kate reminds herself, because this dinner will be a one time occurrence.

His daughter is smiling at her, like maybe there's more to say, and Kate is both intrigued and nervous to hear what the teen's thoughts are. Alexis somewhat enthusiastically begins, "So Detective Beckett, Dad tells me—"

"Where are you two headed to tonight?" Martha interrupts, casting a cautionary glance toward Alexis that makes Kate wonder exactly what the man has said.

* * *

"Even such an exquisite dress doesn't do you justice," Castle compliments as he enters the room. He knows he sounds confident, but the way she looks is disarming enough to make him feel a little self-conscious.

She nods at his words, and he realizes that even though she's decided to show up, she isn't really sold on the idea of an evening with him. He hears Martha say, "In spite of all evidence to the contrary, he really was taught to be a gentleman."

"By whom?" Castle counters, grabbing his jacket and draping it neatly over his arm. He turns to Beckett and gestures to the hall. "Shall we?"

"Might as well get this over with," Kate wryly replies as she exits.

He absolutely cannot resist, even while his family is watching him, but when Kate walks away, his head tilts to admire the view. He yelps an "ouch" and rubs both of his arms when Martha and Alexis each smack one side. He whispers, "Don't wait up," to them, and hurries after Kate.

"He'll be home before midnight," Beckett sings from the hall. That woman has fantastic hearing.

He takes long strides to catch up, meeting her at the elevator. He watches as she stares at the indicator lights without attempt to engage him at all. He would talk, after all, he is amazing at filling silence with words, but he's too busy obsessing over whatever is going on in her head.

"It was very nice…what you did for that family," she evenly states as she gets on the elevator and he leans against the wall behind him, just beyond the point where they'd touch.

"I'm glad you liked it," he replies, studying her. "And that it was enough to convince you to show up."

She turns toward him, her arms crossed in front of her in something he's quickly dubbing her 'cop stance.' The dress, hair and makeup don't mitigate her no-nonsense toughness. "There's one thing that doesn't add up," she says.

"What's that?"

"Why didn't you tell them who it came from?" The question is meant as an accusation, but as she awaits his answer, her expression is softly quizzical.

"Does that matter?" he replies, failing to anticipate the question.

"Honestly, the gesture was nice. But the reason I showed up was the gesture coupled with the fact that you didn't even want credit for it. You had the chance to play the hero, to get a date and some pretty sincere gratitude from a family and the precinct. But I'm the only one who knows."

"So it _is_ a date?" He grins, hoping that she'll be irritated enough to drop the whole thing. She isn't though, so he knows he has to continue. He clears his throat. "You seemed uncomfortable with the idea of going out. I figured if I admitted where the money came from, people may ask you why, which would only make you more uncomfortable. Besides…you're the reason it was given, you are part of the 12th, so it was accurately signed. I did my research. I know about all of the things you organized to help that family."

Seeing a little softening in her eyes, he feels a flash of hope, but he also feels more vulnerable than he wants to beneath her stare. No wonder people break when interrogated by her.

To direct the conversation, he turns, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he whispers flirtatiously, "And the very last thing I want you to feel tonight is discomfort."

Her expression sours and she quickly exits the elevator the moment it's open, and he's already sad that the closeness is broken, but relieved that he doesn't feel her eyes boring into his head anymore.

* * *

Their dinner is lovely, candlelight and impossible-to-get seats at a place where she suspects they know him all too well. When he isn't acting like an over-confident playboy, the conversation is pleasant. She still hasn't let on what a tremendous fan she is, and part of her is interested in sitting across from the author she's long admired. Although she certainly won't say that to him.

Once again, he occupies seemingly contradictory places, both appearing self-absorbed and incredibly attentive. When he asks her a question, he hangs on her answer, leaning his chin on his fist and waiting quietly and patiently for the response. Each time she's finished, he doesn't jump on the opportunity to speak, but seems to wait an extra moment or two just in case she may say more.

He discusses the choice of wine with her rather than imposing one, and doesn't try to order for her. He's still over-the-top, a bit too much for anyone she'd voluntarily date, but he's less obnoxious than he seemed during the case. His complete attention feels a little intoxicating.

They finish the bottle of wine, but it doesn't seem like he's trying to get her drunk, and really she figured that would be his move. He doesn't try to talk her into sex or grope her beneath the table. As much as he's suggestive, he's careful not to overstep, never instigating any unwanted contact. In fact, he seems to be more of a gentleman than not.

He's midway through a story when he pauses, tilts his head and says, "I have a fantastic idea."

Standing, he signals to the server and offers his card to pay.

"We're leaving?" she asks. "Right now?"

"We'll get dessert later," he replies. When she scowls, he adds, "I'm referring to ice cream. I have a place."

He's grinning like a kid at Christmas, as he takes her to the vehicle that will chauffeur them to the next location.

Once in the car, he sits right next to her, slightly in her space, but she's not going to move away. She's going to hold her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him. Looking at her intently each time she speaks, his hands remain folded across his lap. His legs have fallen open, with the wide deportment of a confident man. When the car hits potholes or they turn, she feels his knee brush against her, but that's the extent of their touches.

When they arrive, he gets out of the car first, extending a hand to help her from the seat to the sidewalk. She takes it, and as she stands and finds herself close to him, she realizes just how wonderful he smells. Unlike the rest of him, the cologne he wears is subtle, and she finds it alluring. He puts his hand against her back, politely just below her shoulder blades, but it's skin against skin, and her head swirls for a moment. She hurries toward the door, not paying attention to where they're going as much as she's inwardly chastising herself for her physical reaction to someone she wants to be repulsed by.

Once they're inside, it looks as if they've stepped right into another world. Castle talks to the relatively disinterested attendant, and she hears the kid tell him, "Just the two of you? If you're looking to impress your girl, pick a different room. No one solves that one."

"Wait! Solves what?" Beckett questions.

"I love a challenge," Castle smirks, glancing over his shoulder at her and reminding her that he hasn't lost interest.

"Wait," she states, remembering that he's leading her down a hall and she's still not certain where she is. He really throws her off her game. "What are we doing? Is this some weird role play thing, because I haven't agreed to—"

"Escape room. You know, they lock us in a room and we try to solve a mystery to get out. I figure that's our kind of evening."

"You're essentially making me work without getting paid?"

"We can discuss compensation when we win."

The attendant takes them to the end of the hall, and says, "Listen, pal, we've had rocket scientists and doctors in here, six of 'em at a time, and they couldn't figure it out. You might want to start with—"

Beckett steps in front of Castle and says to the kid, "You think we can't do it?"

"No offense, lady, but—"

If she wasn't interested before, she definitely is now. She's still in the attendant's space, not so far from his nose, and says, "Let me in the damn room."

"Whatever, lady," the kid gripes. "You have two hours."

They walk in and she hears the heavy locks click shut behind them. Without a moment wasted, she drops her purse and dives into the case.

She feels like it shouldn't be fun, but it is. Few of her dates are as intelligent, handsome, and articulate as he. Between the pair, some puzzles are solved quickly, but others make it clear there's a reason why no one ever escapes this room in the time allotted.

Before tonight, she would have thought a date like this was an awful idea, a way for people to end up fighting, but it is perfect for the two of them. It shows her how incredibly well suited they are to working together when motivated. He seems serious as they work through the hurdles, both set on proving they can solve the room no one else can.

They know they are nearing the end, and she is dying to tell that boy outside that they may not be scientists or doctors, but they can solve a mystery better than most. They are hovering over a cypher they found in a false-bottomed desk drawer. She can feel her hair brushing Castle's cheek, they are that close. Occasionally their fingers brush over the symbols. Kate has been dead focused on solving this, but now, suddenly, she's entirely distracted by him. His face is stoic, full of intent wonder, eyes moving as he thinks. For some reason, his cologne smells even better than it did before. His jacket fabric is so smooth, she tempted to rub her arm against it a little more. Why in the hell didn't he act like this while they were working together a few days ago?

She is a professional, though, and even through the distracting journey her hormones are leading her on, she suddenly sees through the cypher, and shouts at the same time that he does, "The light!"

They smile, faces so damn close that it's hard not to think of what could happen. She sees his devilish smile begin to bloom. His eyes drop to her mouth, and completely without thought, her lips part. Gaining control over her rogue responses, she jumps away and looks at the lamps up on the ceiling. Castle checks the one nearest him while she evaluates the one closest to her, but neither contain the key they need. Glancing at the timer on the wall, she knows they have eight minutes left, and she will not fail this challenge.

She jumps off a chair, moves it under the large fluorescent light in the center of the room before she steps up on the table. "Get on the chair," she orders Castle.

He does, his flirty affect returned as he stands in front of her. "Yes, ma'am."

"Stay on the chair, and I'm going to hop on your shoulders."

He faces her, offering his hands for support and leers, "Hop on."

"Turn around," she replies, her hand clasping over his head to turn him around so he isn't facing her.

"Killjoy," he mumbles, groaning when she hops off the table and kneels on his shoulders.

"Hang onto my legs."

"If you insist," he replies, his hands sliding up her thighs in a way that makes her feel flushed, but he keeps them locked in a relatively polite position.

She silently reproaches her hidden desire for his hands to roam a bit more disobediently. It feels like the only time he's ever listened to what she's told him.

"Got it," she exclaims as she removes the cover and finds the final tiny key wedged in the corner of the fixture.

"Beckett," he cautions as she leans too far to one side and his balance is compromised.

The chair slips from under him and he falls onto the table, Kate tumbling onto him. "You alright?" she asks immediately.

He rolls from his side, and she finds herself perched on his abdomen, her knees on either side of him. Kate braces for a scandalous comment. His hands have found a resting spot on her hips, but he just stares. She notes the way her fingers are splayed across his chest, and it feels way too familiar. But for some reason, she has yet to run. His voice sounds so low it's almost not his own, and he says, "You are so…" but he stops abruptly, helping her up before righting himself and smoothing his suit.

"Care to finish that thought?" she questions a bit proudly.

"Ah, right," he starts, seeming a little off his game. "Athletic," he responds. "You are very athletic."

"Right," she smirks, going to the door and putting the 10th key in its place.

When it pops open with three minutes to spare, the pair walk out into the hall. The attendant approaches, looking just as bored and disinterested as he did earlier. That didn't squelch her sense of victory at all as she finds herself openly celebrating the way she sometimes wishes she could at the precinct. She turns to Castle and lifts her palm for a high-five. He's smiling at her in a way that's far more sweet and triumphant than lecherous. He accepts the high-five, but his hand doesn't pull away when it should. Two of his fingers slide between hers, and his thumb brushes up her palm. She wishes it didn't make her feel tingly.

He still hasn't let go. "Ready for a little celebration?" he asks.

She quickly manufactures disgust she doesn't exactly feel and pulls her hand away.

"They have champagne flavored sorbet, for that traditional celebration vibe…" he leans closer like he's about to share a secret. "Personally, though, you can't go wrong with chocolate. Or chocolate marshmallow. Rocky road. Anyway," he shakes his head. "Obviously you can choose your own flavor."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dessert? Ice cream? Remember?" his tone drops to a whisper. "Unless…you are hoping to celebrate in some…other way?"

She scowls, summoning the full power of her cop-facing-suspect glare. "Ice cream is fine."

"Suit yourself," he cheerily responds, still completely undeterred by her chronic thwarting.

She watches him walk away for a moment before she joins him, wondering if Castle is more complex than what he seems.

* * *

-Up Next-Part 2 of the Pilot "Date"-


	2. Flowers for your Confusion Part 2 of 3

A/N—This chapter got a bit long, so I broke it into two, meaning that this is now Part 2 of 3. Plus I feel it works better as a three parter. Also, still WAY off-canon.

 **Season 1 Non-Canon**

 **Multi-perspective**

 **Flowers for your Confusion Part 2 of 3**

* * *

Rick listens as Beckett recounts the story of their success in the escape room. She is walking at his side, and he feels positively elated at how much happier she seems. She may not have wanted to have fun, but he's managed to show her a good time. He thought she was interesting when they met, but each passing moment only seems to prove it. He is pretty certain that a lifetime of research would not unravel the mystery of her, but he can only imagine how fun it would be to try. The thing is, as much as he is attracted to her, he's already entirely convinced that she isn't a one night type of woman, at least not for him. There is no way he could learn everything he wants to learn about her in a single night. No, Beckett isn't the type of woman you quickly get out of your system.

Halfway through dinner earlier that night, he realized he needed to do something special, hence the escape room. And then, halfway through the escape room, he decided the desired outcome of his time with her wasn't a night or two of passion. He wasn't, and still isn't, sure exactly what he wants, but he definitely wants… _more_. For now, that's all he really needs to know.

Remembering his plan, he nudges her with his shoulder toward the ice cream shop, and she pauses and stares at him. "You alright, Castle? You're quiet all of a sudden. You didn't get hurt in that fall, hit your head, did ya?" When he doesn't answer immediately, she grabs his face in her hands, angles him toward the light, and checks his eyes for signs of concussion.

"I'm fine," he chuckles, taking her wrists in his hands and pulling them away from his face. "I was listening to you."

She extracts her hands quickly, but she's still smiling at him. She doesn't appear nearly as defensive as she used to, and it's making him absolutely wild that he can't kiss that little smirk on her lips. For a moment he weighs the risk. It's not the potential for physical harm he fears, although he knows without a doubt that she can kick his ass in a heartbeat. He fears losing the progress he's gained with her. He reaches past her to get the door, and she quickly yanks it open and steps through, propping it with her foot so he could follow.

He watches her eyes skitter over the large menu posted on the wall behind the counter. "Lots of options," he notes.

"Too many," she replies. "I'm not sure what to—"

"Rick!" a woman shouts as she swoops into the freezer and quickly produces two top-heavy scoops of ice cream on a homemade waffle cone and delivers it to the waiting customer.

"Hey Nancy," he replies. "Bringing you another victim."

"Victim?" Beckett asks.

"Rick says everyone he brings in here gets hooked," Nancy answers as she fills another order. She hands off the cone to the customer and asks Rick, "Just a cone tonight…or the special?"

"The special?" Kate asks, elbowing him.

He turns to her, knowing he's incredibly intense, but ice cream is serious business. "It's so worth it, but too big for me. Usually I share it with Alexis, but—"

"Bring it on," Beckett accepts.

* * *

When the concoction is done, it looks like a banana split, but the flavors and toppings aren't the traditional ones. Kate's trying not to moan too salaciously, but the taste of each combination is fantastic. She takes tiny bites, letting each settle on her tongue to be enjoyed.

His eyes are on her with each bite. She can't identify his smile, and so she asks bluntly, "What?"

"Nothing," he replies, his gaze dropping while he pokes at the ice cream with his white plastic spoon. As excited as he seemed to be to get here, he isn't eating much.

"Tell me."

"You look like you're having fun," he shrugs.

He is disarmed and disarming, but she's prepared for whatever comment is about to follow. She _knows_ it's a come on, some lusty retort that's going to make her body twinge. Of course the best part about whatever she is certain he's about to say is that she'll have an excuse to rebuff him. After all, she feels her chill melting, and she doesn't want to get too comfortable. As obnoxious as she wants to think he is, he's been ridiculously intriguing, fun, and fascinating for their entire date, and it's making her reconsider some of her objections to him.

So she prepares the comeback, the one that will reestablish the requisite space between them, and baits him. "Maybe I am having fun. You think that entitles you to something?" she interrogates with a knowing smirk.

"Absolutely," he emphatically answers before her words fade. She doesn't even have time to respond before he continues, "It entitles me to sit here and enjoy your smile."

She can't help but allow the grin to stretch on, shy as it may be. She's not used to fighting an expression so hard.

He clears his throat and adds, "As far as I'm concerned, that makes my entire evening an unmitigated success."

Shaking her head, she says, "You know you've kinda surprised me tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yea. I expected it to be one ridiculous pass after another."

"Disappointed?" he quips. "I have plenty of lines in my arsenal if you'd like me to dust them off."

She hears her own soft giggle as she shakes her head. "Not disappointed. The opposite. It's actually been fun."

"Fun enough to—"

"Stop right there," she admonishes.

He, as she guesses is often true, doesn't obey, "I was going to say…fun enough to go out again some time?"

Kate did not anticipate this, so she answers with the first thing that comes to her mind. "Does that mean the date—the evening—is over?"

Tilting his head, she can see his mind is firing in a thousand different directions. "It doesn't have to be," his voice nearly cracks midway through the response, showing the uncertainty that lies below his almost chronic aplomb.

Kate knows the words she's about to speak are a bit misleading, and she feels guilty on some level. But she wants him to feel as tied up as she is, so she says, "I thought maybe…you could show me how you move."

His elbow slips off the table because he's leaned forward a little too much. "That was exactly what I was thinking." He speaks a bit more quickly, "I know you made the no sex rule perfectly clear, and I am not asking you to change your mind…not at all."

She nods slowly, feeling her pulse flutter and rise as she's wondering what he'll say next. She should probably tell him what she actually meant by 'move,' but she wants to hear what he's thinking, even though she knows she's probably holding onto a lit firecracker a bit too long.

He puts his hands up, like he's signaling surrender, and simply placing the terms on the table. "Maybe I could show you a thing or two about-"

Beckett interrupts him with a derisive laugh. " _Show me_ a thing or two? You think I'm some innocent girl waiting for a man to show me the ways of love?"

He leans closer over the table, and she still feels like he's touching her even though at least four inches separate them at their closest point. "On the contrary. I look at you and I see a woman who might be able to teach me a few things. And I…am a very willing student."

"You're ridiculous."

"Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was trying to tell you that I want to show you a thing or two about what I can offer, like an interview. I'm attentive. I'm adventurous, and giving, and I'm extremely interested in making sure you have a very good time. I'll make you an offer."

"You can stop right there."

"Hear me out. I will give you a chance to judge my abilities for yourself. I will do my absolute best to satisfy your needs...all while keeping my clothes on, entirely. All buttons buttoned and zippers zipped. Scout's honor."

"I thought you were never a Scout?"

"Writer's honor then. You have my word. I will focus 190% of my attention on you."

"What's the catch?"

"There is no catch. Tonight I'll concentrate solely on you, and I won't stop until you're _fully_ satisfied. Then you decide what happens next. You can walk away. I require nothing in return, no questions asked, no further offers. I have no expectations beyond that. But, if you decide you'd like to, we could go out again. Maybe share some… _interactive_ playtime. You can call all of the shots…or none of them. Or anything in between. I'm open minded. What do you have to lose?"

"Does this line usually work?" She asks because she has no idea whatsoever how to respond to that.

"Jury's still out. First time I've ever made the offer," he says, waiting for her response with loud intensity.

Kate sits back, returning to seated-cop-stance with her arms folded. "That doesn't sound like much fun for you. Sounds like a recipe for frustration."

"I'm not complaining." He leans even closer, compensating for the gap she's added, but in a way that is more secretive than flirty. He whispers, "You really don't feel it?"

"Nausea?"

"…that spark between us, the gravity pulling us together. There's something there. I feel it. And I think you feel it as well. Aren't you the least bit curious? I can't stop thinking about it. Deny it all you want, but I see the way you flush. That pulse in your neck flutters more quickly, your pupils dilate when we're close."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she flat out lies.

"Okay then. What exactly were _you_ proposing? Something about seeing me move?"

"Dancing, Castle," she smugly declares. "I thought we could dance."

Still, he is undeterred. "I have the perfect place."

* * *

He knows exactly where she expects he'll take her. Beckett is anticipating a throbbing beat and closely pressed bodies, maybe a rave with lots of dark corners couples can slip off to for moments alone. He does not want to be predictable or mundane. He's going to keep her guessing, continue to show her that he's not just a writer with a penchant for women. He's a romantic, someone exciting who does unexpected things that can actually bring a smile to her face.

There are three distinct floors at this club. It's exclusive, one that celebrities and the wealthy of New York often attend. The doors open onto a typical club floor, the kind with those heavy beats, coordinated lights, a long backlit bar, and a DJ. He's glad this is their first stop at the club because it's a great place to watch her move. Kate Beckett has an utterly astounding body, so amazing that even watching her do police work seems somehow more beautiful and graceful. And hot. But she was built for a dance floor, for gyration and visual seduction.

Rick offers to get drinks, noting that it is now past midnight, and she's still with him. Forgoing the all too easy Cinderella joke, he watches her merge onto the dance floor while he heads to the bar.

She dances for thirty or forty seconds before she's discovered by a guy. Rick thinks that's longer than it should be before she's approached. He feels a loathing for the dancing man instantaneously, even though he fully expected the arrival of someone exactly like this. The familiarity this guy shows, the ease with which he cozies up so close behind Beckett, upsets Rick more than he thought it would. The guy looks like a model, and probably is. Model boy slides a hand around Kate's waist, letting his palm rest on her hip. Castle feels a rising irritation that she's allowed this clearly unworthy human to get handsy, and almost victorious enough to pump his fist when she steps away, although she continues to dance. The model moves to the front of her, lifting his shirt to flaunt washboard abs that ripple too perfectly. Rick can handle the possibility of going home alone, but he does mind the thought of Kate going home with anyone else but him if she wants company. He realizes his disgust is obviously manifested on his face, and then sees she is looking right at him. He tries to blank his expression, to remember that dates are like playing cards, and sometimes it's important to maintain the perfect poker face.

She whispers something to the model, who shrugs and replies tersely (Rick thinks it's "Your loss," or something equally unimaginative).

She comes back to Castle near the bar, still dancing as she covers the distance. Her approach is hypnotic.

"What's taking so long?" she asks as she takes a drink from his hand.

"Just watching you," he confesses, his admiration plain.

"We're here to dance, not watch." Kate takes his arm, and he wishes there wasn't so much cloth between them, but even her hand, her fingers on his arm, feels too good.

"This way," he says, nodding toward another door.

She lifts an eyebrow and scowls. "Back room? Really?"

"Come on," he insists.

They walk through the heavy metal doors and down a hall, passing a few couples who found those quiet spots to be almost alone. He's pretty sure she thinks he's dragging her to a make out spot, but he's not nearly stupid enough to try it just yet. She's more sophisticated than that. Kate is a woman to be earned, and he's pretty sure good things will come to those who wait. Although he also knows he may be waiting months. He'll find ways to cope.

He swings open the next heavy door and waits for her to enter. When she sees the next floor, something a bit more sophisticated, and certainly not a hookup spot, he wants to shout, "Ha. Maybe a little trust is in order," but limits his gloating to a whisper near her cheek.

This room looks more like a jazz club, a little dimmer, and private, with smooth, soulful music playing. Admittedly it feels a bit like a step back in time. Beckett looks pleased, though, and it makes him happy.

This is the moment when an epiphany descends on him, and he knows how he can keep her in his life a bit longer. He decides at this point that it's best to play the long game, because rushing her will not end favorably for him. She's intoxicating, a drug, and he's already planning his next fix before he's even tried a sample.

He swings them by a table where they place their glasses, and then he holds out his hand, palm up, and waits for her response. She accepts his hand as he guides her to the floor. Rick slings an arm around her waist, finding a polite settling point. Right now, he feels content with the prospect of holding her in his arms, looking into her eyes. This kind of closeness makes it harder for him to exhale, clouds his thoughts, but he believes he could stand like this with her indefinitely.

She drapes one wrist over his shoulder, but before she can land the other, he covers her hand with his and presses both against his chest. It's a little familiar, but he feels it's a classic romantic move befitting the ambience.

She's warm, body taut against him. The only skin he is making contact with is the back of her hand, but even the small space he has available to test is soft and inviting. The muscles down her side move beneath his hand, all at once she is strong and elegant. He has the distinct impression that she's beginning to melt into the closeness. Their eyes lock, and nerves tighten his throat. He doesn't remember feeling so flustered since his youth.

For a while, they dance in silence, and he intentionally looks away. It's too tempting to imagine things becoming heated between them, to dream of more intimate circumstances, and he's decided he's not going to rush things. It's important to take this slow.

"You really do like a challenge," she whispers. He can feel her breath on his ear, and thinks maybe this is another level of torment she's choosing to apply.

"Why do you say that?" he asks. His bedroom voice emerges, and from the stare she gives he thinks maybe he's getting to her.

"You're clearly used to getting what you want from women. You're successful, wealthy, decent looking—"

"—decent?—"

"—I'm willing to bet you could find someone to take home within the next hour. Someone who would giggle at all your jokes and fawn over you, and eagerly respond to your suggestions. You're wasting your time with me. I'll let you in on a secret. I'm not _that_ interesting. I work, I go home, sleep, wake up and do it again," she remarks. "Honestly, Castle, my life is pretty boring."

"I beg to differ."

She soaks up the compliment, and he tightens his arm around her back just a little. He notes the way she doesn't resist or tense, and their stares cement again.

"I'm going to tell you something. Something…deeply personal," he gravely states.

She starts to retort, expecting his typical suggestiveness, "Oh this'll be—"

"I was blocked," he interrupts. "It was worse than I've experienced before. I was starting to wonder if my writing days were over."

Beckett's face falls, shock evident. "Is this a joke?"

"No. There was nothing funny about it."

"I'm sorry, Castle. That's gotta be hard."

"It's a horrific, sickening feeling," he confesses, still holding her hand beneath his larger one. This kind of serious talk is not in his comfort zone, but the situation calls for it.

"You said you 'were' blocked. Does that mean you aren't anymore?"

"Quite the opposite. I have so many ideas it's almost overwhelming. Almost."

"What happened?"

"You," he answers solemnly. "You think you're boring but I can tell you, you are _fascinating_. I can come up with a dozen usable plots, but that isn't what really brings a story to life. What makes a story relatable to the reader, the kind of story they're invested in and can't put down…it's the characters. If I'm not intrigued by my character, how am I supposed to sell them to the reader. I needed someone I could be excited about, a character who could still surprise me."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're the inspiration. You gave me the idea for my next character. She's based on you."

Beckett's face blanches thoroughly, and that wasn't the reaction he expected.

"You're angry?" he asks.

"No," Kate shakes her head. "I'm flattered, I guess. And a little baffled."

"This tremendous surge of inspiration, it's…I imagine it's like getting a break in a cold case you thought you'd never solve." She starts to reply, but he speaks over her, "Let me guess…you've never had an unsolved case?"

"I wish. I know how difficult that is. The frustration. How it eats away at you." She turns away, and he feels like he's said something wrong, something that touched her in a way that makes her turn introspective when he was trying to make a connection with her.

Optimistically, he continues, "The good news is that it's exponentially satisfying when you figure it out. The harder the climb, the greater the satisfaction when you reach the summit. When you find that one missing piece that makes everything fall into place. It's such a rush. I have you to thank for that. Honestly."

"I didn't really do anything."

"You did, though. And if there's ever anything I can do to help you out…just let me know. I'm not a cop, but I know stories. I know people."

He prepares for her to respond warily, but she answers, "That's very sweet of you."

Her forehead drops a little, and for a moment, he thinks she may lean against his shoulder. He wants her to so badly, to feel her rest some of her weight against him. The pair settle into silence, and he remains content with the fact that she isn't pushing him away.

"Did I ruin the evening?" he asks after a song or three passes, he isn't sure because he hasn't really been listening to the music.

Kate's piercing gaze finds him, and she shakes her head, but says nothing.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," she begins. He sees her brow moving as she thinks, her eyes seeking, lips searching for words that don't come, words he desperately wishes he could hear.

When it's clear she won't say more, he asks, "Any chance I can convince you to do this again? Tomorrow? Or next week?"

"I dunno," she softly jokes, "I'm sure there are lots of families in the 12th who could use large charitable donations."

"No," he shakes his head, noting the way they both stop swaying. Now she is joking, and he is the solemn one. "No more deals. No more bargains. Just me, asking you, to go out again. This story between us…I don't want it to be over."

He can hear his heart thudding in his ears as he waits for her reply. He's asked women to marry him and felt less nervous.

An intoxicated couple next to them loses their balance and crashes into Kate, spilling a syrupy drink on her arm. She quickly excuses herself, and he watches, heart fully aching, as she slips off the floor and disappears down the hall into the bathroom. He wonders if she will use the opportunity as an excuse to escape the question. In fact, he's not even sure she'll return.

* * *

Kate stares at her reflection in the mirror as she washes the sticky neon beverage off her arm. Bracing her hands on the chilly white sink, she tries to catch her breath and straighten out her mind. She never imagined things would go like this, that she'd feel so tempted to go out with him again, so lured in by this man. Beneath the flair, he has a depth she did not expect. The thing that frightens her far more than her attraction for him, is the possibility that maybe, one day, she could share secrets with him she hasn't spoken of in years. For the first time in a long time, she considers telling someone about her cold case, the one that changed her life forever. Strangely enough, she imagines her secrets might be safe with him.

The thought of that kind of vulnerability, discussing _that_ case, her mother, something so deeply personal, well that's far more intimate than sex. She's too pragmatic, she reminds herself, for silly flights of fancy like this. There's something about him that makes her feel like trust could one day be possible. Maybe it's his ridiculousness, his complete lack of interest in hiding whatever he wants to say, whenever he wants to say it without the slightest concern for appropriateness. Or maybe it's because he can be sweet and considerate, as well as youthful and enthusiastic. She flashes a smile at her reflection as she thinks, 'A man willing to steal a horse in the nude doesn't feel the need to hide much.' Something about him seems unexpectedly honest, although still deeply annoying.

The whole thing is surreal, from meeting a favorite author, to finding him infuriating in reality, and then being charmed by him during one of the most fun dates she's ever been on. It doesn't hurt that he's handsome in a classic and cocky sort of way. He's definitely not her usual type, but he was right when he suggested she could feel the spark and pull between them.

Still, she doesn't want to make a mistake, doesn't want to rush into anything she may regret, so she stands firm in her resolve that she will not be going home with him, not tonight. 'But also maybe not _never,_ " she silently tells herself _._ It's important that she sticks firm to her resolve, showing him she means the things she says. She doesn't want to cave too easily, inflate his ego.

When she leaves the bathroom, she sees Castle waiting near the end of the hall. The light there is sparse, and mostly she can only make out his silhouette. He's leaning against the wall, looking dejected, a far cry from the over-the-top, spirited man she worked with earlier in the week. He isn't scouting for his next prospect, he is simply waiting for her. Part of her is surprised that his attention span has such length.

Remembering that she didn't respond to his request for another night out, she feels a little bad for rushing off. Barely willing to admit it to herself, she knows she's grateful for the clumsy couple who spilled their drink to give her a few seconds to think.

* * *

He doesn't look up when she starts walking toward him, or even notice her until she's only a foot or two away. "Hey," she says.

His hopeful blue eyes rise to hers, a crooked smile finding the corner of his mouth. "Wasn't sure if you were coming back."

"Just wanted to wash off my arm. Wasn't sure if I wanted my new fragrance to be Orange Crush," she jokes.

"Look, I had a good time tonight," he admits, "but if you don't want to go out again, just say so, I promise, I can handle rej—"

He stops talking because he has to. Her closeness startles him. He's still leaning on the wall, but Beckett is now so near him, so thoroughly invading his personal space that he's pretty sure this counts as actual touching. Her palm presses to his solar plexus, and he turns only a little and finds her face aligned perfectly with his. Those gorgeous, plump lips are ever so slightly parted, and he's not sure how he can stop himself from tasting them. Still, he feels any mistake may send her running. He tilts his head only the slightest, his own lips parting almost imperceptibly. He nudges her nose with his, pressing his hands back against the cool, thickly painted wall to anchor them so he doesn't grab onto her.

When she makes the decision to hop across the centimeter span between them, he hears his breath become heavier. Damn her lips are soft, slightly spicy from the drink she had, and she holds there for a moment. It's insanely enthralling, making him feel things in his head, chest and stomach that he shouldn't feel so copiously from just a kiss.

He's afraid to move, nervous to shatter the fragile structure these seconds are built upon. She moves though, thank god, because it was almost painful to squelch his response. Her lips surround his upper lip, gently tugging, and when her tongue tickles the soft underside, his gasp stutters. If his goal was to remain cool, he's failed, not that he cares. He's literally pressing his hands against the flat wall like he can hold on. If he stops hanging on, he's going to wrap his arms around her, pull her legs around his hips, spin her around and shove her up against the wall. He wants her that badly, that completely.

She's tentative, though, her kiss slowly exploring, studying him, studying _them_ , and how they meld. It's delectable torture, something to be savored and rushed at the same time. Her fingers remain against his torso, but her other hand moves to his shoulder, sliding with smooth pressure up the back of his neck. His hair stands on end back there in the hot path left behind by her caress. Her fingertips move over his scalp before she grabs the back of his head, and there he finds an answer. There is an urgency to the way she pulls him closer, an insistence similar to what he feels.

Her body stretches luxuriously, lining his. A moan slips from her throat when he starts to return the kiss more hungrily, feeling like now she may not pull away, at least not from that, although he doesn't dare any escalation, any other untested contact. He's trying so hard not paw at her. He sees this in his mind, the image of him leaning almost passively against the wall while she takes control.

There is no telling where she's learned to kiss like this, if it's from some experience or merely a manifestation of her passions finally being freed, but he feels fortunate to be the recipient. Finally, since she seems very comfortable with how things are going, he reaches out, keeping one hand glued to the wall for good measure. His thumb climbs her jaw, fingers moving along her neck. The slippery softness of silk would feel like burlap compared to her skin.

It's stupid and reckless, but he inches his mouth over to her neck, knowing she may rebound away from him, but he has to, his desire needs to emerge somehow. Rick's lips and tongue explore her there, seeking those sensitive places and trying to show her what he's capable of doing to her if she lets him. He hopes she knows, she can feel, the way he's going to make her explode if she's willing. He is more than happy to devote ridiculous amounts of time and effort into doing just that.

She claws at the back of his head roughly, pulling him closer and inviting him to continue. Her fist grasps his shirt, pulling in as much of the fabric as she can, but it's the sounds, tiny sounds, that shoot through him.

The fingers he still has affixed to the safety of the wall ball up as he gathers his bravery. He brings those timid digits to her hip, and the second she doesn't withdraw, he becomes more brazen, allowing his hand to move over her back, pull her body flush to his. She moves closer under her power, her thigh settling between his. His right leg is partially wedged between her thighs, he's actually jealous of a part of his own body. His face, his hands, his hips, would all rather be there, arguing over which most deserves that placement.

Her lips move to his ear, he feels her tongue on the lobe as she whimpers out a cry that will forever haunt every hot, sweaty thought he has.

His hands are now moving on their own without interference from his thoughts, pressing down her back, fingers venturing up the swell of her ass but stopping short of groping those firm cushions he's been starving to palm.

The nearby music dies and lights come up, signaling to all of those still there that the hour is late and the club is closing down. She pulls back enough to see him, although their bodies are still aligned from chest to knees. Her lips are bright red, eyes wild, and breath harsh and ragged, so wanton compared to the composed detective she lets most people see.

"Any chance you are considering my offer?" he asks, his stare falling to her neck and chest before returning to her mouth and then eyes to await an answer. He's aware he probably looks brainless with need, but takes comfort in the fact that she seems to look the same.

"Which offer?" she asks, raspily purring with a voice that sounds like it hasn't been used in years.

He's almost forgotten there were two. He offered her a no-reciprocation-necessary pleasuring session, and then later another date. He's too thoughtless to figure out which answer he's supposed to give, so he says, "Which ever you're willing to accept."

The look on her face, raw sexuality, makes him brace for an answer that's going to make him so hard he'll be begging for mercy, he just knows it. He's ready to hear it, wanting that thrill that will follow and the vast array of possibilities that may develop from there.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be sorry," he looks down over her body again, holding on tight, full of admiration and curiosity, hoping that soon he's going to know so much more about her. "You did absolutely nothing to be sorry for."

"But I'm about to," she replies, firmly pressing her hands to the wall to remove herself from him. "I have to go. Thanks. I, uh…I had a nice evening."

Once he wraps his head around the fact that she's going, she's actually walking away from this, he shouts after her, "Kate! Wait! At least let me make sure you get home!"

But she disappears into the crowd before he can give chase.

He looks at the space that's now empty before him, and asks the universe, "What the hell just happened?"

Rick tells himself he should run home, grab a shower and work out some 'tension,' then take a nice long nap. But the ache he has is located more in his chest than anywhere else. In the space of an evening, he was thoroughly falling for her. Maybe she doesn't want this, doesn't want him, but he stands by his belief that their story is far from over. If she won't date him, he'll deal with that, but he can't yet let her go, not without a fight. And he's relatively sure that if he can find a way to stay in her life, things will work out.

So he doesn't go home to his shower or his bed, he picks up his phone. "Hey, Big Cheese! Need a quick favor!" he declares.

The voice on the other end speaks, and Rick checks his watch.

"Sorry, Mr. Mayor, I didn't realize it was this late…or early. Either way. But I promise you, this is important."

* * *

Next up Part 3 (the last part of this mini-story, no, really, I mean it this time).


	3. Flowers for your Confusion Part 3 of 3

A/N—thank you so much for the words of encouragement. I'm really hooked on this pairing, and excited to have some readers to share that with. This is the last chapter of this Season 1 story. I hope you enjoy it.

Next I'll either work on a Non-Canon-Hurt/Comfort story or maybe I'll go back to Graveyard. Whichever I get finished first I'll post.

Again, thank you so much!

* * *

 **Season 1 Non-Canon, continued**

 **Multi-perspective**

 **Flowers for your Confusion Part 3 of 3**

Kate goes straight home from the club, standing under a blasting shower and trying to figure out what the hell happened over the last few hours. Realizing that she won't be going to sleep, she dresses in her training clothes and goes to the precinct gym for a good workout. That always clears her head.

It's not even 5AM yet as she strolls through the basement of the 12th, a woman on a mission. From down the hall, she hears Lanie, "Girl, what in the world are you doing here at this hour?"

"You're here," Kate points out. "If there was a body, why wasn't I called?"

"There was a body, but it's a DUI, so no need to call in homicide."

"Oh."

"Yea. 'Oh.' So let's get back to you." Lanie pulls Beckett into the autopsy room. "You go out on that blind date last night?"

"Yes. But it wasn't really a blind date."

"This must be good. Who was he?"

"You can't say anything."

"Girl, you know I won't. Another cop?"

"Worse. You remember that writer, Cast—"

"Oh, no way!" Parrish interrupts joyfully. "You hit that?"

"No," Beckett chuckles, signaling to Parrish to be quiet.

"Why not? What are you doing here with me instead of barely climbing out of that man's bed and walk-of-shaming yourself back home?"

"Didn't seem like a good idea."

"What wasn't a good idea? Getting some? Having fun? He looked like he was into you. You could be walking around all covered in afterglow. Instead you're here. At work. No one I know, and I mean no one…needs to get laid as bad as you. So what did he do to mess it up?"

"I had a lot of fun."

"How horrible," Lanie sarcastically retorts. "Get out of my morgue and go get laid. Right now."

"The thing is…we kinda hit it off. So I'm not sure where we stand."

"You hit it off and that's a bad thing? If you don't know where you stand, go find out. You live too much of your life here, with death and suspects and grieving families. Everyone tells me you are absolutely fearless…but it's not the whole truth. You're fearless, unless you think you might make a connection, let someone get close to you. You want to live on a deserted island, I can't stop you…but at least invite a guy to visit once in a while."

"Fine," Beckett says, hurrying out the door before more could be said.

"I'll be by later to check on you. I better find some evidence that you've actually had yourself a good time…" Lanie snickers as she calls after Kate.

* * *

When there's a knock on his door early Sunday afternoon, Castle pauses his frenzied writing to answer. He's still in his pajamas, having napped only a short while before the story called to him. At least his desire to write distracts him from the sting of Beckett's speedy vanishing act.

The moment he opens the door and sees her, he winces, assuming she's here to skewer him for the arrangement he made with the mayor. She's dressed for a workout she clearly hasn't had yet, and he's guessing the only things that keep her from her fitness regimen are duty or rage. Since no one is dead at his apartment, it must be the latter.

"I wouldn't be happy to see me either, if I were you," she says, an almost apologetic expression on her face.

"What?"

"I'm sure your mom is pretty upset that I shot her down last night before I even gave her a chance. It was a little hasty," she teases tentatively.

"Mother told me what you said when she answered the door. I know she can come on rather strong, but I can't fault her for her excellent taste." He's smiling, hurt already forgotten now that they're speaking again.

"So I thought maybe I'd come back and see if she's still interested."

"Hate to tell you, but she isn't here. She and Alexis are catching a preview and grabbing some dinner with the cast."

"Oh," Kate says, looking past him into the apartment, and he thinks she's trying to see if anyone else is there. He hopes she's worried about the presence of another woman.

"You know, you're actually pretty funny," he observes, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "Why do you try so hard to hide that?"

"I don't. Just not a lot of opportunities for levity when I'm working a homicide and trying to keep the civilian who was following me safe in spite of himself."

"Yea…I guess not."

"I'm not an impulsive person," she bluntly explains, joking stashed firmly aside.

"Okay?"

"I had a surprisingly nice time last night. But I try not to go back on my word, especially when I make a promise that I think is in my best interest."

"I didn't expect you to go back on your word. But I also didn't think you'd run off like that. You could've let me take you home…unless you were afraid you couldn't resist me, alone in a car."

"That's why I want to apologize. I'm sorry I left like that. It just felt like things were getting out of control."

"Out of control is when the best stuff happens."

"I'm plenty used to diffusing out of control situations. But, typically, even when everything else is chaotic, I am not."

"For the record, I was not the provocateur. You, _you_ were the one who kissed _me_ …I was a perfect gentleman. Well," he hesitates, "maybe not perfect. But still a gentleman. Mostly."

"I thought you might mention that."

"Not…that I have _any_ regrets about your decision whatsoever. I enjoyed that part very, very much. What I could have done without was the post-kiss disappearance."

"You said before that people rarely surprise you. I'm usually good at sizing people up pretty quickly. But you took me off guard. I had fun and…I got caught up in the moment and I shouldn't have."

"Why not? Isn't that half the fun in life? Finding moments and getting caught up in them?"

"Not for me. Not usually. It's not like I expect some big commitment, but I also respect myself enough to be more than a faceless lay in an overstuffed little black book. I am more than a meaningless quick thrill that you can look back and brag about screwing once."

He leans closer, knowing that he's flirting hard even though she'll probably rebuff. "Wait, hold on …Who in the hell said anything about 'quick'?"

Her mouth opens a bit more, and he can see that the words hit her exactly the way he'd intended.

Moving even closer, close enough that they're almost touching, he adds, "I promise you…you couldn't be a 'meaningless faceless lay' if you tried."

He glances quickly at her lips, expecting that she's about to run again, but damn he wishes she won't. He's truly startled when she grabs the two open sides of his bathrobe and pulls him closer until she's kissing him. It's not as cautious as the last time, their tongues immediately savoring and exploring, the heavy sounds of their pants and whimpers of pleasure appearing unimpeded. He's certainly not as reserved this time, deciding that if she's going to pull away, he can't stop it, but he sure as hell can enjoy it while it's happening.

She's still hanging onto his robe, and pulls him across the hall until her back crashes into the other wall, narrowly missing the door. This woman only seems to have two settings: idling or full throttle. He loves that about her. She sure as hell doesn't feel guarded now. His hands are roaming over her back and neck. He discovers that her hips fit perfectly in his hands. He could make out with this woman forever.

"Castle," he vaguely hears once, and then three or four more times as he's running his open mouth along her neck, licking and tasting her salty-sweet skin.

He realizes that she's pushing against his shoulders, and he pauses. He puts his forehead to hers and murmurs, "Sorry."

He doesn't want this to end, he definitely doesn't want her to leave. His teeth dig into his lip as he bites it to bring himself out of that lustful fog and back to moderation.

"Don't be sorry. I don't want to stop," she replies, shaking her head as she touches his face. "I just thought…maybe you'd invite me in."

"Of course," he answers, smiling slightly as he gestures for her to enter, wearing a mask of sangfroid.

He can't maintain such cool for long, so on impulse he lifts her, pulling her legs around his waist as the backs of her knees hook on his hips. He feels her giggle before seeing the smile on her face as he spins her around and stumbles clumsily into the apartment, locking the door behind them.

"Oh, um…There is one little thing we should probably talk about," he manages. As much as he doesn't feel like dampening the mood, he thinks she may be irritated if he doesn't tell her about his conversation with the mayor in the wee hours of the morning.

"Right," she answers, "of course. I'm single, disease-free."

"What? Oh that's great. I'm currently girlfriend-, wife- and disease-less, but that isn't wh—"

"Good," Kate avidly replies, grasping the back of his head and fervently kissing him where he stands.

At least he tried to tell her, right? But his attempt to disclose is forgotten because the things he wants (needs) to do to and with her are far more important than anything else to him for the moment. She's so damn sexy, self-assured, _flexible_. How in the hell is he supposed to think about anything besides this insanely hot woman in his apartment?

They make it a few feet before an upwelling of impatience demands that he touch her. He places her on the kitchen counter, unzipping her jacket and yanking it away from her arms. His hands are practically shaking with anticipation as he reaches for the hem of her tee shirt and pulls it over her head. She's wearing a sports bra, nothing fancy, but he kind of likes it because he assumes she was carrying out her usual routine when she decided she _had_ to see him instead of working out. He's pleased to be a distraction. Of course the clothes he likes best are the ones she's no longer wearing.

Her arms move under his robe as her legs tighten around him to pull him near. His hands finally slide over her ass cheeks, lifting her as she hangs on. The woman has the most amazing ass, and as much as he's enjoying touching her, he'd love to get a better look at her. He uses the opportunity to jerk her yoga pants over her hips, dropping her back onto the counter so he can pull them down. She chuckles when they get stuck on her feet, a tangled mass of pants and underwear caught on her sneakers. "Damnit," he gripes, stepping back and pulling off the shoes without untying them or even extricating them from the rest of her clothes before letting them fall.

He licks his lips in anticipation as he gets a good look at her. She's nearly naked, and every bit as delicious as the meals he typically enjoys concocting. He watches as she pulls her bra off, enjoying the bobble of her full breasts after they're released. For a moment, he's slightly slack jawed as he takes in the scene. Some incarnation of this moment will definitely make an appearance in his books, because it's seared into his brain.

She wiggles her finger in a come-hither motion, and he obeys instantly. His mouth eagerly seeks her breast, tongue swirling over her turgid nipple, and then moves to the other, too eager to linger anywhere too long. He pauses briefly to explore the valley between them, kissing the flat part of her chest there and feeling the thud of her heart drumming against her ribs.

* * *

In this moment she sees yet another side of him. He isn't cocky or entitled, in fact there is an odd sweetness in the way he acts as he learns her body. Something about him almost seems awed, like she is somehow unique in his mind. This all makes her feel more assured, like perhaps this isn't a mistake. After all, she doesn't know what this is, if it's anything. Maybe they'll have fun this one time, and move on forever. Or, perhaps, this will become a regular thing for them. Or maybe, just maybe, it could be something more. Whatever it is, she admits to herself that she hopes it lasts longer than today.

It feels so good to be touched again, to enjoy the escalation of desire with another person who's as invested as she is.

He cradles her thighs in his hands and carries her to the sofa, sitting down before she falls onto his lap. She feels the burn of his stare as he looks her over, and notes the steady progress of his fingers up her inner thigh. The soft pad of his middle finger moves to the parting of her flesh and finds the hot, silken treasure awaiting him.

He's audibly panting as if his finger is the recipient of pleasure rather than the provider, and it's turning her on ridiculously. With his palm up, he oh so gently brushes her clit, slides downward and dips shallowly inside her, and carefully draws the moisture upward so he has a greater pool to swirl around in. Soon two of his fingers are moving over that sensitive nub, circling and flickering, and he's quickly ratcheting up her arousal.

This time, when his finger moves lower, he presses into her, groaning like it's his cock that's entering her. After only two pumps, a second finger joins, and her head tips back in ecstasy. His fingers scissor and stroke within her, not just poking, but feeling, caressing, and exploring, conforming to her body.

She's clutching onto his shoulders, her grasp locked on him as her torso leans back. Each time he's inside her, his thumb rolls over her clit and she's edging higher, although he doesn't stay there long enough to grant her much longed-for release. It's uncanny the way he seems to know how to touch her, almost like she's directing him except she can't pinpoint his next move. His fingers are so much larger than her own, pressing against her walls and filling her more completely. The combining of these factors, along with his unmasked enthrallment, makes it all so astonishing.

As she gets close, so very near the edge, he kisses her roughly, nibbling her lip before he entreats, "I can't wait to watch you unravel."

He doesn't even finish the sentence as her body clamps down on his fingers and she calls out a string of unintelligible phonemes. She feels the fireworks more than she sees them, plunging over harder and longer than she has since…well she has no idea when.

For a few wonderful, carefree seconds, she rests her forehead on his shoulder. In her mind, she thought he would be the type to push her mouth to his cock the moment she finished, immediately expecting reciprocation. But he doesn't rush her. She feels the way he's gently rubbing her back, placing feathery kisses on her shoulder that make her feel so unexpectedly cared for.

Remembering who she's with, she prepares for what she is certain will be a gloat-fest. After all, that felt wonderful enough that he does deserve to be a little pleased with himself. But when she lifts her head, he isn't smug or proud. He's staring with an intensity that is startling, without a hint of silliness or arrogance. The experience is so powerful it reverberates through her.

He lifts up and turns, placing her on her back on the sofa, and kisses a long, lazy trail down her stomach. When she realizes that he intends to go down on her, she grabs his shirt and pulls him up so he's lying on her. "What are you doing?" she rasps.

"Interviewing. Or, more accurately, auditioning. Wasn't that the agreement?" he asks, moving his stubbled chin down the upper part of her chest. "I'll focus on you for now, and you can gather all of the information you need to decide if I'm worth another… _visit_."

"I thought that offer was for last night only. Besides, I've seen enough. I don't need an audition," she giggles as his fingers roam and tickle. "I want this," she adds as she reaches between them and palms his erection, stroking over his thin pajama pants, the smooth silk of his boxers sliding over his girth. "Is that a problem?"

"Wh—umm-i-it's not a problem for me. I just want to make sure you're…getting what you want."

"It's definitely what I want. But…maybe we could find somewhere a little more private?"

He looks around the space, like maybe he's forgotten they're in his living room.

"Just in case your family comes home early," she adds.

"Oh. Yea, hell," he nods. "They won't. But that's a really good idea. I really should have thought of that."

She grins at his lack of brain function, reaching up and sucking on his lower lip, pinching it in her teeth before she replies, "Let's go."

When he stands, his pajamas are evidently tented, his shirt is wrinkled and gathered from their frolicking, and his robe got lost somewhere along the line. His hair is actually kind of mussed up but still mostly ordered, which she finds even more amusing. She quickly gathers her displaced of clothes before he takes her hand and leads her to his room.

Once they're in his room, he locks his door and she pulls his shirt off him with the same hasty resolve with which he removed hers. She hops up as soon as he holds onto her, using her toes to push his pants and boxers down to the floor as she kisses him against the door.

* * *

She pulls away for a moment, creating enough distance to look him over. He feels so exposed under her stare, a feeling that is not typical for him. Stepping backward toward her pile of clothes, gaze locked on him, she grabs her jacket, fishing out the wallet from her pocket. She unzips it and quickly retrieves a condom.

He feels a stab of jealousy that she carries them with her, which he doesn't think makes any sense. But he wonders, suddenly, if she carries them all of the time. Does she have a go-to guy, not a boyfriend, but someone who she has sex with on a regular basis. She has needs, surely. He feels an urge to ask who in the hell she's been sleeping with, although he knows he has no right to ask such a question, nor does he wish to admit that who she sleeps with already matters to him.

This pang of envy concerns him slightly, and when she notes his hesitation, she argues, "No condom, no sex. Sorry, Castle, that's a rule I won't budge on."

"Of course," he agrees immediately. "Fine by me."

"Oh. You looked—"

"Everything's fine because I agree completely. Safety first," he interrupts, coming close, taking the condom from her fingers and tearing open the package with his teeth before raising an eyebrow.

"Okay," she seems a little confused, like she wants to further question his inner thoughts.

So he distracts her, coming close, visually scouring her. He flicks the empty packet for the condom to the floor, holding the rubber in one hand while he grabs the base of his shaft with the other. "Wait," she demands, nibbling her lip before she adds, "let me do that."

She crushes her body to his, his erection trapped between them, kissing him for just a moment before she takes his manhood in her hands. She grabs his balls just firmly enough to express something that feels like ownership to him (and he doesn't mind that in the least). With her other hand she fists his cock, stroking with nice, long, tight pulls that suppress his concerns.

His eyes are closed, and he finds his hands reaching back to the dresser to brace his body. Playing him all too well, she shortens and loosens her strokes, and he finds his body involuntarily rocking toward her to plead for more contact. She ceases touching him almost entirely for a moment and when he searches for her motivation, he watches while her finger taps the bead of lubrication leaking from him. With just the pad of one finger, she smears the fluid over his cockhead, the scant touch teasing something fierce. She's so meticulous, so thorough in her study, and it drives him wild with the need to fuck her with everything he has. She's trying to break him, he thinks. Damn it's fun to be in her crosshairs. And nerve-wracking.

She snatches the condom he has pinched between his fingers. The lubed rubber feels chilly compared to her fist, but only for a moment before their bodies warm it. When she sheathes him, carefully rolling the prophylactic into place, the entire gloriously process tests his patience.

He senses he's become too idle, so he wraps her up in his arms, listening to her "yip" in surprise, and he falls back against the wall. He crashes into it hard, so hard that it will hurt once he cares about the remainder of his body again.

Her arms and legs are wound around his neck and hips, and he sees a definite mischief in her smile that sends a hot surge straight to his groin. As controlled as she is, this woman definitely knows how to make a man forget the world (hell, he can't even remember his address). He feels the heat of her pussy against him, inviting him in. He pushes toward her as she presses toward him, bodies fumbling for fulfillment, his need for gratification growing as she can no longer silence her vocal responses.

Grabbing his cock, he guides himself to her entrance, watching her cleave to him. She is bracing most of her weight, maintaining only enough distance to avoid sinking down onto him.

Pausing considerately, Rick brushes his lips to hers. It's a tender and caring gesture in what has been a hurried race up until this point. He wants her, so entirely, but he only wants her if the feeling is mutual. Her greenish eyes look heavy with desire, and although he paused to ensure consent, he finds she overwhelms him fully.

Just as he's frozen in place by her captivating stare, she covers his hand, the one holding his dick, and tilts her hips forward and lowers her weight.

He grunts harshly in aroused satisfaction, washed away in sensations he hasn't really braced himself for. She doesn't give him time, either, to adjust and prepare, to firmly wrest control again. Oddly enough, as reckless as he may seem, he usually has very good self-control in sexual situations, and she's shaken all of that.

If that shook his methods, what she does next shatters them. She hooks her hands behind his neck, extends her arms so she can look down at his body, and puts his hips in a vise lock created by her legs. He's completely lost the upper hand in this situation, and it feels so incredibly good that he's not even interested in shifting the scales back in his favor. She's way too good at this.

Her body moves with graceful power, undulating her torso and hips. As agile as she is, she is not at all gentle. He is the one inside her, but she is clearly the one fucking him. He's pretty sure he's found his ideal partner.

His hands slide up her corresponding thighs, and he feels the lithe strength of her finely tuned body. It's hard to believe there is anything in the universe but the two of them, there, like that. Vaguely he feels like he's being watched, and sees that she's studying his face, her own expression is one of heat and fascination. And alluring confidence.

She _should_ be confident, because he's about twenty seconds from hitting his trigger point, and once he's there, there's no going back.

Pushing his shoulders away from the wall, he grabs on tight to her hips to hold her still. After all, he doesn't want to be the only one awed. She may have said she doesn't want an audition, but he definitely hopes to demonstrate that she wants to stick around.

As her lips meet his, the kiss slow and thick, he takes clumsy steps toward his bed. He misses his target, though, crashing into his side table. The entire collection of items on top of the table is displaced, a lamp and bowl fracturing as they hit the wall and floor. He laughs, not caring in the least for his things when he's far too busy having the ride of his life.

Flopping back on the bed, still clinging to her so he can stay ensconced within, their bodies stop when he hits the mattress. She calls out with a jolt of erotic sensation because when their progress is abruptly stopped, his body slams against hers. He pauses for a second to check on her, relieved when he sees her smile. It's a worriless look, a true expression she cannot govern. It's also one of the prettiest things he's ever seen. He chuckles as he braces on his elbows and kisses her again, relishing the feeling of both her body and the affection she bestows.

When he knows for certain that she's fine, he rolls her under him, noting the way her arms drop to the bed, palms up and bent at the elbow. For a moment, she's willing to relinquish the upper hand to him. He kisses her inner elbow, watching a shiver spread across her skin, and then begins to thrust shallowly inside her again. He's precise, giving himself some time to rein in his racing libido, to let things build and crest at a more manageable pace. His body moves increasingly with each plunge as need dictates he must, working her up into a frenzy as well as he can. He sucks her collarbone and neck, nipping lightly and playfully, enjoying the way she's allowing him to give and exchange pleasure. With each sigh, moan, and gasp, he's learning her, and he can feel her enjoyment mirroring through his senses.

He flips her, letting her back on top. The way she fucks him is too hot to deny. Plus, from here, he can see her better, and his hands are free to roam. Looking down, he grabs onto her hips, holding her still just above him. He lifts his pelvis, watching as he disappears into her. "God, Beckett, you feel incredible. So tight. So slippery and hot."

She leans down, finding his ear, and he remembers the last time she whispered at him, and the way it made him feel. Just a few days ago, he didn't yet know her touch, and it still zapped him hard.

"And you," she purrs, "So. Damn. Hard." Her voice drops low, adding praises in inaudible fragments.

His eyes peer higher, as if in prayer, and she drops her fingers to the fronts of his shoulders and begins to ride him harder, faster, more wantonly. He holds onto her and won't let go, pushing and shoving their bodies together in the tempo she's dictated. They are so good at this cadence, at knowing the rhythm of the encounter like they're following the same silent song.

Both have forgotten promises of self-restraint and thoughts of auditions from the night before. They're two intrigued souls, a pair of attracted beings, racing to satisfy the same uncompromising biological force that pulls more ferociously because of the connection they haven't even fully explored yet. Her entire self tenses, he sees the muscles in her neck and tummy contract, feels the clench of her thighs and clamping of her core as she ardently moves to claim him again and again. He bottoms out within her each time, his balls smacking against her. He's close, so close, suspended at that spot right before orgasm, it's almost too good to let go, but he knows the rush that awaits him.

She cries out his name, first "Cast…" soft and sweet, like a devoted whisper, and then she screams the final syllable, stretched long as her passions ascend. When he joins her, it's completely unavoidable, a seizing of his body, mind and faculties. His hips hover above the mattress as he's trying to move through her, to merge if only it were possible.

They'll both leave bruises on the other from this fevered encounter, but few moments of existence are less filled with pain, obligation or worry than the seconds after orgasms like these.

The first need he is aware of is to stay in her, so he needs to keep her against him. "Stay," he murmurs.

"Condom," she reminds him.

"Right," he answers, begrudgingly but cautiously pulling out of her depths and rolling away so he can get rid of it in the bathroom.

As he stumbles back to her, reality seeps back into his brain. He wouldn't really be all that surprised to find her already dressed to leave. The sex was truly phenomenal, and he wonders if that will make it easier or harder to convince her that this really shouldn't be the only time it happens for them. He's only regained rational thought for a few seconds, and already he has plans. Lots of plans.

But she's still tucked in his bed beneath a wrinkle in his bright white sheets. He slips in next to her, savoring the warmth and softness of her sated body. Lifting her slightly to slip his arm under her, he wraps her up and holds her close. He assures her, wordlessly, that she isn't meaningless, that she matters. She doesn't resist, not in the least, and he moves with her as she inhales deeply, and slowly exhales into the moment. He matches her breath, sharing one of the most basic needs with her in perfect synchrony. He softly hums his appreciation for this moment of utter relaxation and connectedness.

He could get used to this, used to this feeling, this woman.

"You know what?" he asks, carefully broaching conversation.

"What?" she sighs contentedly.

"You…are a wild woman."

She giggles, looking at him for a second before hiding her face. "Too much for you to handle, Castle?"

"Just the right amount of too much to handle," he compliments. "Seriously. Damn, Beckett. I don't mind saying it…you were right. My expectations were pretty high, but I had no idea how you really are."

"And you…" she replies, pausing carefully, "you are not all talk. You have the skills to back up that confidence, believe it or not."

"I think that's a compliment."

"It is," she nods subtly. He can't even fully enjoy the commendation because he's already thinking about how to win her over and make sure this isn't a one-shot tryst.

Since his second divorce, he's been pretty committed to keeping relationships light and short, but Beckett, well there's just something about her.

"We should definitely do this again some time," he starts, realizing that he sounds needier than he wants to. "I mean sex like this… it would be an absolute tragedy to deny ourselves."

She glances at her watch and says, "I don't have to leave just yet. Unless you want me to."

"Me? No way I want you to leave."

Her fingers tickle the crease between his thigh and torso, and she offers, "So as soon as you're ready—"

"I'm game if you are. But I was talking about other days...after today."

"Oh?"

He thinks maybe she's leaning toward a flight response, so he tries to sound casual, "If you can get a few days off, we could go to the Hamptons next weekend. You could use me up, subject me to your every tawdry whim, with no one around to hear me scream."

"A weekend away?" she asks hesitantly, clearly undistracted by his joke.

"I'm just being practical. You don't want to tell me where you live, and there isn't much privacy here," he explains quickly, hoping she won't read too much into it. "Up there, we'd be totally alone. Just you, me, my better-than decent selection of wine…And an entire weekend for each of us to prove to the other that we're the best they've ever had. Unless you're afraid you can't keep up?"

"Might be fun," she flirts.

"Might be? Oh, it is _sure_ to be. Or maybe now that I know certain _other_ things about you…," he says with lascivious undercurrent, "you'll invite me to your place. I'd love to see your lair." He scrambles to deflect any sobriety from the situation, and adds, "Or maybe you're afraid you'll get hooked."

"Me?" she scoffs. "We're not even dressed yet and you're already trying to lock down a weekend."

"Fine," he answers before his brain thinks better. "I don't know if I'd say I'm hooked just yet, but I definitely enjoyed my first sample and I'd really, really like to have more."

Honesty was the right way to go, because her defenses drop again. "Alright, Castle. If you haven't already moved on to the next woman AND I don't have a case next weekend, you can come over to my place."

"I don't deny that I like to shop around. But that's only because I haven't found what I really want. Besides," he says, lifting the edge of the covers and peeking under them at her body. His tone turns animated and enthusiastic as he continues, "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

His hand slides over her skin from her shoulder, down her side and over her leg. "What?" she asks, appearing off guard.

"You are truly gorgeous, Beckett. I can imagine a lot, but I can't think of any better way to spend next weekend."

"You're pretty attractive yourself," she replies, sliding her calf up his leg, scratching her short nails softly up the back of his neck, her intentions clear. "Good thing that case is over so you're not consulting anymore."

Suddenly he remembers his news, the information he wanted to share with her before they had sex. "About that…" he begins with a nervous wince, but her body is tearing his mind away from responsibilities and onto more interesting things. "I really like where you're going with this, but there's something I should tell you."

She laughs softly, "I know, Castle."

"You do? You know?" he replies, eternally hopeful. "Seriously?"

"Yea. You obviously find I inspire more than your writing," she teases as she wiggles against him.

"True. You are…very inspiring." He's having so much difficulty concentrating, but clears his throat, feeling that whatever is going on between them could lead to something much more than a fling. But that isn't what I need to talk to you about."

"Listening," she smirks, but she's slinking down his body, kissing a trail down his chest, playfully nibbling a nipple as she slides down the bed.

Grabbing her elbows and pulling her up so they're lying on their sides facing each other, he insists, "We can continue in just a minute, but I can't think when you're doing…that. Listen, I need to do research for my book, so last night I called—"

He is interrupted when her phone rings. "Hold that thought," she says as she hops out of bed.

"You really need to answer that now?"

"It's the Captain," she replies, knowing from the ring tone. She's frantically searching through her clothes. "He doesn't call unless—" she pauses when she finds it, and answers the phone with a succinct, "Beckett."

Rick's frustration that she's left his bed and suspended the conversation is heavily moderated by the sight of her standing in front of him completely naked. But her expression changes, and while she's still on the phone, she begins to untangle her knot of clothes and dress.

"Beckett!" he whispers as loudly as he can.

She shushes him and shakes her head, eyes wide with worry. "No, sir. The TV. I'll be right there."

Hanging up, she explains, "I have to go. It's nothing personal. I'd rather hang out here a little longer. But I'll give you a call later, okay?"

"Beckett… _Kate_ ," he entreats, not fond of the thought of her disappearing…again.

Her expression apologetic, she replies, "I _am_ sorry. Unless someone is dead, it'll have to wait."

He cringes, and decides to blurt it all out quickly, just so she doesn't think he's hiding anything when she hears it from Montgomery very soon anyway. Then her phone rings. "Esposito," she explains to Castle.

She speaks to the detective for a moment, telling him, "Hang on a second."

Putting her phone on mute, she leans down to Castle. She offers a gentle but unfortunately brief kiss, enough to make his heart pick up. "I'll call after work. Talk then?"

"Looking forward to it," he says, watching as she leaves his room and he hears the door shut as she leaves his apartment.

* * *

The case Beckett responds to is wrapped up rather quickly. She and "the boys" question the man who called it in, and by the second question, he crumbles and confesses. There isn't much of a mystery involved.

It almost irritates her that there isn't more to this case, because she left Castle's bed but she wasn't really needed at work. Even more unfortunate is the fact that she now is saddled with the paperwork.

As she walks to get coffee a few hours later, giving a final read over the report she is going to file, the Captain calls her into his office. "You have a fan," he comments, telling her that Castle is drawing on inspiration from her for his next novel. Although she already knew that, she acts surprised.

She doesn't have to _act_ surprised when Montgomery tells her Castle is planning to shadow her on the job for the foreseeable future in order to do "research." She definitely hasn't heard about that before. As she turns back to face the shadow in the door behind her, she sees Castle there waiting, happily grinning.

* * *

She leaves the meeting and storms down the hall. Castle hurries after her trying to hide the fact that he's scrambling. He argues, "In my defense, I tried to tell you about this earl—"

"Shh," she growls, still fleeing.

"Give me a chance to explain."

She whips around, eyes beyond fiery. Poking his chest to punctuate each word, she grumbles through gritted teeth, "Not. Here."

He stops, grimacing as he awaits her explanation. She looks around to see if anyone is watching, and nods down a long hall for him to follow.

"Can I remind you that you're surrounded by cops here? Killing me in this building probably isn't the best id—"

"What were you thinking?" she interrupts with a harsh whisper as she continues rushing down the hall.

"I tried to tell you."

She pauses her retreat for a moment, facing him. "You couldn't have told me during dinner? Or ice cream? Or dancing? You had plenty of time."

"I didn't know then. I set it up after you," he leans closer, speaking like he's sharing the secrets behind a dark conspiracy, "kissed me like _that_ and vanished without explanation."

She crosses her arms. "In the middle of the night? You called the mayor at 3AM?"

"He pointed out the lateness of the hour as well." Castle grabs his phone, and offers, "You can check my recent calls, or call him to verify, if you want. It's the truth."

Beckett stares wild eyed for a few seconds, clearly stunned, and tugs his jacket sleeve gruffly and continues down the hall. "Why?"

"I wasn't ready for this story to be over yet. I'm dying to see what happens." Rick continues. "Look, I tried to tell you before the…you know…the stuff we did earlier. And I tried to tell you before you left. You were more interested in getting down with yours truly and seeing dead people." He pauses, considers, and adds, "I'm not sure what that says about you."

"So it's _my_ fault you didn't tell me?"

"No!" he whoops, quieting when she shoots daggers with her eyes. "It's not your fault I'm irresistible."

She scowls, trying to intimidate him.

"Alright. If you really want me to, I'll quit. No shadowing," he offers.

"Good."

"Really? You're going to make me quit?" he gripes with absolutely no poker face.

"You offered."

"I just said that, and you were supposed to say I could stay. At least that's how I would write it. Come on. Please. Just give it a try. A few cases. It'll be fun! And kinda sexy. Think of it: Detective by day, lover by night…"

She shoves him into a towel closet near the locker room. "No sex," she orders as she firmly presses the door closed.

"Fine," he answers too quickly. "No. Wait….you mean no sex now? Ever? At work?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All."

"Seriously?" he whines. "I have to choose between the story and sex? And not just ordinary sex. That was…" he makes an exploding sound, enhanced by his fingers mimicking two expanding blasts. "Wow."

"I'm sure you have plenty of other prospects. Find someone else to sleep with."

Castle looks away. He's been trying to keep things light. He's not ashamed to show his interest, but the romantic and caring heart he tries to keep hidden already knows he wants more than sex from this woman. How in the hell is he supposed to keep it cool when faced with a decision like this? His heart answers, but his brain chooses more casual phraseology. "I'd much rather sleep with you."

"Then no shadowing."

He feels crushed, not wanting to surrender his newfound inspiration, but still feeling like maybe this thing with Beckett could be something more. "Fine," he says, defeated, "I won't shadow you."

"Really?" she gasps.

Now he's quite confused, because she made her stance clear. Maybe she just doesn't want to see him at all anymore, and that hurts far worse. "What do you want, Beckett?" he asks, defeat peeking into his tone. "You want to pretend we never met?"

"You're willing to give up your research and all of this inspiration?"

"No. I'm not. But if you're going to force me to choose, I'll have to pick the best option."

A smile emerges on her face. "Fine. You can shadow me." She launches herself toward him, vacillating between kissing him and bossing him around.

"And we can keep doing…" he palms her rear, leans back a little to meet her eyes, "…naked, sexy stuff?" His eyes flutter shut as her lips return to his and the sensations she causes overwhelm all other objectives.

"Yes. But not at work."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Castle. Absolutely no messing around at work!"

"I'll remind you for the second time that _you_ are the one who kissed _me_. I like this pattern."

She silences him with her touch. He's not going to fight the discrepancy between her words and actions as long as it involves her kissing him while saying they can't screw around.

"No one can know," she adds into his mouth.

"Not a problem."

"I'm serious."

"Part of what I like about you," he replies as his lips move to her neck.

"I'm going to treat you exactly the same. My job is not a game. No free passes or special treatment." She gasps out a moan as her explanation of the rules fades.

"Understood," he replies, utterly breathless, giddy, and stunned.

She pauses, demanding that he meet her eyes. "No matter how good the sex is…I'm not going to take it easy on you."

He beams, "I wouldn't want it any other way."

* * *

THE END


	4. The Conspiracy: Chapter 1 (Post S3AU)

A/N—This is romance centered with strong mutual Hurt-Comfort themes. During Kate's recovery from being shot, she decides to call Castle and they are there for each other. This is a non-canon, multi-chapter short story.

I really wanted to imagine what it would have been like if they would have been together during in her recovery as she dealt with her physical issues and they both wrestled with their feelings. So I'm playing with that a little.

* * *

 **New Story: Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 1**

The hurt Castle felt at Kate's silence after being shot grew by the day. He wanted to be there for her. Three weeks passed without a word, and as much as he tried to throw himself into her case with Ryan and Esposito's assistance, the feeling of rejection swelled. As he realized he wasn't going to solve her case, he started to wonder if there was any connection left to bind them. His timing hadn't been great, but he had told her he loved her, something he'd kept locked and hidden from her for so long, but she hadn't even heard him. And now she was gone. Each day he began to think it was less likely that he'd ever hear from her again.

One evening after dinner he sat in his office, fluctuating between periods of furious typing and long moments of static uncertainty, when his phone rang. He glanced at it, and when he saw her face and name, he was momentarily stunned. Putting down his laptop, he looked again just to be certain, and then answered as calmly as possible. "Kate?"

"Hey, Castle," she replied, her voice lacking its typical authority and strength, but hers nonetheless.

He had a million questions, but began with the one at the forefront of his mind. "Are you okay?"

Dismissively, she replied, "I'm fine." Then she cleared her throat and returned a question. "So what's new?"

The conversation continued for a few minutes as she sidestepped or minimized any question he had about her life, but she posed many. She asked about his family, his book, even the mundane tasks of daily life. He answered each and every one, preventing the end of the call as best as he could.

"Look, I don't have anything new to read. Any chance I could get a sneak peek of your new story?" her weaker voice questioned.

"It's nowhere near finished."

"That's okay. Just read me part of it."

"Read it to you?"

"Yea."

His uncertainty was overpowered by his desire for a connection with her, so he complied, starting at the beginning and reading. He read the first two or three pages when Alexis came into his office, talking to him before she realized he was on the phone. As soon as Beckett heard the interruption, she said, "I should go anyway."

"I could call you back," he offered, missing the days when hours upon hours were spent together.

"Is it okay if I call you tomorrow?"

She did call him the next evening, and almost every evening that week.

She didn't want to talk much about herself, although she succinctly told him she was healing. Beckett didn't mention Josh in any conversation, and it cut through him to imagine Josh by her side day after day. Rick wondered if the doctor was working the evening shift, thereby freeing up Kate to call in the evenings. He doubted Josh would approve of these daily, non-work-related chats.

He tried not to think too much about it, but it still bothered him. He knew she didn't love Josh, not really. The question, "How's Josh?" formed in Castle's mind nearly every time they spoke, but he never allowed the words to materialize because he didn't want to ruin the few minutes they had together. For the time, it was enough just to be communicating with her, exchanging words, hearing her chuckle and, yes, even her scoff when he said something ridiculous.

Each night he'd read her a few paragraphs of his book, but only after she'd ask. One night he teased, "All of these personal readings you're requesting are inflating my ego. I'm starting to think you might be a pretty big fan."

"I may be," she replied, her voice lighter for the moment.

"If we were in the same room and you had a sharpie, I could give you an autograph." He guessed she could see through his thinly veiled attempt at a suggestion that she finally let him see her, hidden as a joke for his own protection. He held his breath as he waited for a response that he figured would never come. He could almost hear her telling him that she was tired and needed to go.

Instead she answered, darkly teasing, "Trust me, Castle, you wouldn't want to see me anyway."

"Why would you say that? Of course I want to see you. As soon as you're ready."

"I need to go. Call you tomorrow?"

"Kate—" he began, cut off when she ended the call.

How was it possible that every single phone call was both fulfilling and immensely frustrating?

* * *

The following afternoon, shortly after lunch, Castle heard a knock at the door, and found Beckett's father standing nervously in the hall. "Is she okay?" Rick asked, immediately fearing her father would only be visiting if something horrible had happened.

"I believe," Jim replied. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"Please, come in. Can I get you a coffee?"

Beckett's father nodded, but didn't waste time before getting to the point (a trait Rick guessed was passed on to Kate). "I'm concerned Katie is in trouble," the elder Beckett stated.

"Did you call the precinct? Report it?" Rick worriedly asked.

"Not that kind of trouble."

"I spoke to her last night, she sounded okay."

"She spoke to you?"

"Yea," Castle said, gesturing to the open chair next to him at the table.

"She was here?"

"No. Phone call."

"I'm worried. She's always wanted to handle everything herself, carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, and usually she does it well. But not lately. She's pushed me away. She's on her own, and—"

"On her own? What about Josh?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Rick asked, feeling more hope mingle with his concern.

"She broke up with Josh, shortly after the shooting. She was supposed to be staying at my cabin, but I went up to bring her some groceries and she wasn't there."

"You tried calling her?"

"Yes. I've spoken to her, but she's being evasive, keeping me at bay. You know my daughter. If she doesn't want to let someone in, she won't. She's hurt, lost…She hasn't been this upset since her mother's death. And perhaps that's why she doesn't want me there. I didn't handle Johanna's passing well. Maybe she doesn't want to hurt me, risk my sobriety. But I'm worried about her out there alone. I don't know what she's thinking. She assures me she's okay, but I know she isn't. Physical recovery is slow, I'm sure that's bothering her. She's used to being strong, self-sufficient…in control."

"She hasn't told me where she is."

"She's not at home. Lanie doesn't know where she is. Josh is apparently already overseas. The truth is…if anyone in the world could get through to her, find her…it would be you. Could you help me, please?"

"She doesn't want to see me right now. I'm lucky she even calls."

"Even if she doesn't want to admit it, she needs you, Mr. Castle."

"Rick."

"Rick. She trusts you more than I've ever known her to trust anyone, even me. She'll confide in you. I just want to know she's okay. I don't like thinking of her out there."

"I think you overestimate the amount of sway I have in this situation."

Jim shook his head and cleared his throat. He stared the Beckett stare, and said, "And you…you underestimate how much she cares for you. How important you are to her."

* * *

Rick couldn't wait, couldn't just walk away. If she needed him and he needed to be there, nothing would get in his way. She had asked for space, he remembered that, but the moment she called him, she invited him back into her life. At least that was the story he told himself.

It didn't take long to find her, though. A few hours hanging out at the precinct, and he finally found Detective Galley, a woman from Drug Enforcement. Her family had a small lakefront place upstate. It took some convincing to get her to admit that she helped Kate, and confess the location of her family vacation spot, but Castle was relentlessly charming. And finally she caved.

He made the drive to the small town the next morning, mentally writing and rehearsing the coming conversation over and over to prepare for their meeting. In his mind he'd pictured a lake house, like a place he would rent, with a sprawling wraparound porch and vast picture windows. The place where Beckett was staying was simple and small, a wooden cabin clearly constructed with reclaimed materials, likely by the same family who owned it. It was cozy, but modest, probably the size of his living room alone in the Hamptons. Still it seemed a fitting place to go into hiding, surrounded by trees, nature, and fronting a glassy grey lake.

Rick grabbed only his laptop bag and the cardboard cup carrier filled with two coffees and got out of the car. He climbed the wooden front steps, leaving a hollow but muted thud on each. Stretching his neck as he prepared for whatever her reaction was to his presence, including the possibility of rejection, he lifted his hand to knock on the door.

Then he heard a groan, and it wasn't a pleasured one. Carefully and quietly setting his laptop bag and drinks on a rocking chair, he sidestepped to the first window by the door and peered through the glass. Typically in situations like this, Beckett was in front of him, gun at the ready. Looking inside, his heart lurched as he saw Kate standing in the middle of the room, a tall man looming behind her, his hands wrapped around her arm and shoulder. Although Rick knew from experience how well she could normally handle an attacker, he was certain she wasn't recovered enough to fight just yet.

He prepared to break in the door with his shoulder, but thought better of it. If he failed, he'd simply make a loud noise that would alert the attacker. With the utmost care, he wiggled the doorknob and found it open. He rushed inside, crashing full force against the man who'd made the terrible mistake of targeting Beckett. Kate harshly yelled his name as he found himself astride the thug. Rick pulled his fist back, prepared to hit the guy until his knuckles pounded with pain.

But his arm was abruptly halted in midair, and when he turned, he saw it was Kate who stopped him. Her eyes were welling with tears, her face contorted in a display of physical pain. "Don't," she demanded, but her voice lacked its typical authority.

"Are you alright?" Castle questioned, still ready to pummel the man below him.

"He wasn't attacking me," she explained, stepping back and clenching her side. "He's my physical therapist. Roger."

"Oh," Castle said with a forced smile, standing up and reaching out his hand to help the guy up.

Roger declined the assistance, rising and hurrying over to Kate. "Are you alright?" he asked, taking her arm and testing her range of motion.

"I'm fine," she answered. "I'm so sorry—"

"I get it," Roger smiled gently at her. "Given everything you've been through, your loved ones are a little on edge."

Kate stared at the ground as Castle, too, looked away. This was all so awkward between them, and he wished that wasn't the case.

Roger and Kate decided he'd return another day to continue therapy. Castle watched as the young, incredibly fit man gave her exercises and instructions to care for herself. All Castle wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, tell her how happy he was that she was alive, how much he'd missed her and couldn't wait to see her. But she wasn't herself. The Kate he knew was in there, he could tell, but she shared her body with an abundance of pain, loss, frustration, and sadness. It was almost like those elements sharing Kate's body with her were winning over, shoving her true self into submission.

Just as Roger left, Rick went to the porch to gather the things he'd brought and found her in the kitchen. It was filled with mismatched, outdated appliances and cabinets, and a wood stove so old Franklin probably could have built it himself. Kate rested against the tilted, off-white fridge with a tall bottle of water, eyes closed as she wrestled with her pain.

"I'm really sorry," he said as he approached.

"It's fine," she shook her head. "It's actually sweet that you were so concerned."

"Of course I'm concer—"

"But you don't belong here," Kate interrupted.

"Of course I do. You're my partner."

"Well, I'm not a cop. Not right now. Not for a while."

"I'm not a cop either, but that never stopped me." Knowing that this was going to turn quickly into a battle of words, he dodged. "Actually, the real reason I'm here is because I'm concerned that your needs aren't being met."

"Needs?" she snapped. This was not going to be easy with her.

"Yes," he answered, remaining at ease. "The most important, basic need a strong, healing woman has…" he turned his back to her, freed her cup from the carrier and spun around, "is really good coffee."

She fought the smile but it came, reaching carefully for the cup. "That was nice of you…to drive hours for coffee. But you shouldn't be here right now."

"Why?"

"It might impact your writing. You don't want to see Nikki Heat like this, do you? To destroy that image. That unbreakable, attractive fantasy, turned weak…pathetic. It'll ruin your book."

"It's a shame, really," he commented, coming closer and leaning on the counter next to her, shoulder to shoulder with her for the first time in what felt like forever.

"I know," she answered, her confidence sapped.

"It's a shame you don't know Nikki Heat, or me, as well as I thought you did. Sounds like someone needs to refresh herself with my more recent works. I'm willing to read them to you if you'd like."

"Cas—"

He moved almost imperceptibly closer, and interrupted, "Nikki isn't a superhero. Nothing supernatural about her, that's part of her beauty. She's fallible, mortal…but she's a hero anyway. When she leaps into danger, stands up to thugs twice her size without blinking an eye, stares down the barrel of a gun held by the shaking hand of a man about to be held accountable for his wrongdoings, she is all too aware of her humanity, of the fragility of life because she's witnessed that very same fragility day in, day out…it's part of who she is since she crossed that yellow tape for the first time. So no, nothing I see here ruins how I see…Nikki."

She smiled quickly, just a flash, her face tilting down to the ground.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm afraid we have a case."

"I can't work right now."

"This is important," he insisted. "A conspiracy."

"What kind of conspiracy?" she doubtfully asked, walking gingerly to the stool by the kitchen peninsula and taking a seat.

While her back was to him, he flinched a bit, feeling such incredible sorrow for the agony she was in. Before facing her, he re-donned his happier expression, and said, "I think someone's listening in on our calls."

"Who?"

"Mob. CIA. Aliens. Jealous writer-muse duos."

"Exactly why would they do that?"

"Trying to get the scoop on my story…figure out the lightning in a bottle that is our interpersonal chemistry."

She chuckled. "If you don't want to give me a preview, you could just say so."

"I do. I just need to do it safely," he hurried to his computer bag and produced his laptop. "I'll read it to you right here."

"So you drove all the way up here to read to me in person because of a conspiracy you clearly just invented?"

Feigning offense, he gasped, putting his hand over his heart and standing across from her on the other side of the counter. Then his phony outrage evaporated and he confessed, "Pretty much. Also, I do have a slightly selfish reason."

"Go on."

"I needed to talk to you, to hear your way of speaking. I was having some problems with dialog, so I needed to soak up some verbal-Beckettishness."

"You couldn't do that on the phone?" she asked the question but immediately foresaw the excuse, and said, "That's right, I forgot…someone's spying on you."

"Exactly!"

They sipped their coffees for a few moments, and then Castle said, "I am sorry about the therapist. Think he'll come back?"

"Yea. He will. I know you were just trying to have my back. It was sweet. A huge overreaction, but sweet."

"Given recent events, it didn't feel like a huge overreaction," he defended.

"Yea. I guess you're right."

She seemed to be pulling inward again, so Rick continued talking, "The NYPD pays for private in-home physical therapy?"

"No," she scoffed. "I met him when Josh and I were dating."

" _Were_ dating?" Castle questioned. He knew her father thought the relationship was over, but he wanted to hear it straight from this Beckett.

"Umm, yea. Josh and I aren't…together anymore. We broke up."

"Oh, that's too bad," he answered, wishing he could dance with utter joy.

"Yea. Well, it was for the best. And I think he'd rather be saving the world anyway, so it worked out for everyone."

"But his friend comes up here to help you?" Castle wondered suspiciously.

"Yea. He heard about what happened and offered. He's really good."

"I'll bet he is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're recently single, he's trying to be here for you in your hour of need, not to mention that he has the perfect excuse to be close to you, touch you, and—"

"And he's gay."

"Maybe he's just saying that to get close to you."

"Yea, you must be right," she sarcastically countered. "Maybe he got together with his husband eight years ago, bought a house, adopted a couple of kids as cover to make it look good when he eventually met me years later when I happened to get shot and need his help?"

Castle calculated the likeliness in his head and agreed, "Seems plausible."

She softly chuckled at the absurdity, but sounded almost like herself for a moment. "I suppose it does, to a man who's spent years of his life working for the NYPD for free just to hang out with me." The accusation hung in the air, no mention of research. Her eyes traveled and glanced at him without moving her head, but before he could say anything in response, she clarified, "Don't worry, Castle, I know you stuck around for your books."

"Right," he nodded pensively. "So. You want to hear the next chapter or not? There are a few lines of dialog I really need your help with."

"Let's go."

* * *

He visited her two days later, and again two days after that, and each time they read some of his newest work, although usually only a page or two. It was an excuse, he knew she knew that, but she played along. Often they enjoyed short walks by the lake, or whatever carryout meal he grabbed on his way out of the city. He made the long drive each time, leaving as early as he could and returning home very late at night, but he needed to see her. He hoped at some point, he'd be able to break through, to get her to open up and talk about things they really needed to talk about.

He still remembered when she opened up about her mother, the way she finally trusted him enough to share. With Beckett, pushing wouldn't work unless she was ready. He would wait again.

On his fourth visit, he arrived just as Roger was leaving. The therapist didn't appear pleased to see him. Roger paused. "Not a good day to come."

"She okay?" Rick asked.

"She's pushing herself too hard. Rest is just as important as exercise."

"Well, good news, we weren't planning on mountain biking today."

Roger narrowed his eyes. "Try to make sure she takes it easy."

Castle walked in and found Kate seated, leaning against the table with her forehead propped against her knuckles, a large cold pack across her ribs.

"Hey. You alright?" he asked.

"Of course. I'm fine. Didn't hear you."

"Can we stop this, Kate?" he seriously queried.

"No one made you come here," she bit back.

"That's not what I mean and I think you know it. You pretend you're fine, but I can see that you're not. "

"I am."

"You aren't, Kate. You're hurt physically. You're hurt emotionally. You've been through hell. That's why you're here, why you've hidden yourself from reality."

"I'm not hidden. I let you visit. I called you, remember?"

"Yes. And you've kept me carefully at arm's length. But I guess that's nothing new, right?"

"I don't know what you want from me, but I'm fine."

"You're fine? You think I don't see the way it hurts when you pick up a mug with your left hand? You think I don't realize all of the things you've lost these past few months?"

"I'm not feeling well, Castle. Maybe you should lea—"

"You're going to prove me wrong by running away? By shutting me out as soon as I try to have a real conversation with you?"

"I've been through a lot lately—"

"That's exactly my point. I know what you've been through, but I don't know how you feel. I don't know what you're thinking and I want you to tell me."

"I can't make a joke, laugh it off, and act like nothing happened. It's not that easy."

"I know that. I don't want you to act like it's nothing…I want you to act like it's _something_. Tell me what it is. How you feel, anything. I'm listening. I'm here, Kate. I want to know. You can trust me."

"You want me to tell you it hurts? You want me to tell you how infuriating it is that I can't go for a run in the morning? That I can't soak in a tub for a few more weeks until my incision heals? That I can't take a shower without seeing the scar on my chest? That I still feel the hole in my heart when it beats?"

"Yes. If that's how you feel, I want you to tell me. Remember…remember how you told me that all you wanted was someone to be by your side? To have someone to jump into life with together? Well that's me."

"What are you saying?"

"Just that I'm here. I want to be here. I want to jump into all of it, the good and the bad, the pain, the laughter, the frustration. I'm here and I don't want to leave. And if the only way you'll let me stand next to you is as your friend and partner, so be it. I'll take what I can get. But please don't push me away."

"I don't need—"

"I need. Do it for me. I need to be here. This is my fault and—"

"How in the hell is any of this _your_ fault?"

"If I never would have pried into your mother's case," his face contorted as he tried to hold back his tears. "If I wouldn't have poked, reopened those wounds…"

"I forgave you for that years ago."

"But it all led to this. Josh was right. It's my fault you were shot."

"Josh? He didn't understand. He thought he did, but he didn't. And he's gone."

"Why is he gone?"

"I liked him, so much. But I didn't…I didn't love him. He was wrong about a lot of things. And what happened was _not_ your fault. Not at all. And when I'm better, I'll find the bastard who did this."

"Still the fact remains that I played a part in stirring this all up. All I want to do is help, to make it a little more right. Make sure you're okay. Let me do something, anything…to be here for you. Because I'm so sorry."

"You didn't shoot me," she firmly stated. "It isn't your fault! Damn, Castle. What happened to the guy who did whatever he wanted, got into trouble with impunity, then called in favors to the mayor to make it all go away? Now you want to take responsibility for something that is not your fault?"

"Being with you…it's changed things for me. Don't you see that? Seeing the way you carry a piece of the pain for the victims and their families, the way you fight for them. Those tragedies aren't your fault, but you feel responsible. I see that over and over again. And, apart from my daughter, the relationship I have with you is the most important one of my entire life. So, please…don't make me go. Let _me_ carry a small piece of that pain for _you_ until we can get justice. I watched you slip away, Kate. Saw the color drain from your face, the strength slip from your grip, the life from your eyes. I felt that loss, what it would be like. I can't…I won't lose you. Not without a fight. And I'm begging you not to shove me away like I don't matter."

"You don't have to leave… But none of this is your fault," she explained.

He was on the very precipice of declaring his undying love, again. The urge to tell her neared compulsory levels, but he paused as she rose from her spot and placed her ice pack on the counter. She moved with such caution, like she was navigating through a maze built of shards of glass, and he wondered if her caution was only due to physical pain. He faced her when she came near, bracing for the moment to come.

Kate's face turned to the side and she leaned nearer until her cheek pressed against his chest, then much of her torso followed. Her left arm remained pinned tightly to her body, but her right curled around his side. It took him a moment to realize she was hugging him, leaning softly into him, and it filled him with an indescribable sense of fulfillment. It was the most open connection he'd ever felt from her.

Then he practically kicked himself when he realized he was standing there without responding. His hands moved to her back and shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure because he didn't want to hurt her. He simply held her as she held him, suspended in that moment.

* * *

Next up-Chapter 2, Castle helps with Kate's recovery


	5. The Conspiracy: Chapter 2 (Post S3AU)

A/N—This is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to post something this week, and it felt like a natural breaking point for this chapter before the next.

This is continuing my post Season 3 AU story.

 **Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 2**

* * *

Rick continued to visit every few days. He wanted to convince Kate to return to the city, to stay and convalesce in the guest room at his apartment. It felt safer, definitely, but also he needed her closer, for them to orbit each other in their daily lives again. Although his visits were frequent, he missed her. Every time he so much as mentioned the possibility of her returning home, he felt her emotionally repel away. She clearly had no interest in returning yet, so he tried to exercise patience.

On the following visit, it felt like a hundred obstacles delayed his departure, and later an accident slowed the highway to a standstill. He arrived at the cabin nearly three hours later than he typically did. When he got there, he didn't see Kate when he looked through the window, but found her at a lower stone patio next to the lake doing her strengthening exercises. He was surprised by how much stronger she seemed in just the last week. He couldn't help but wonder if she was pushing herself too hard. But in truth, working too hard practically defined Beckett.

As he walked down the path, foot crunching on some twigs, she swung around, quickly producing a gun from somewhere and almost immediately having it trained on him. He instantly noticed the unsteady quiver of the gun in her hands, so unlike her. When she realized who was approaching, she pulled the gun back and only then allowed herself to acknowledge the pain she felt. She struggled a bit as she tried to breathe normally. "I didn't mean to startle you," he explained as he hurried closer to help her. "You knew I was coming," he reminded, mentally checking boxes as he recalled their phone call from the night before.

"Yea, well, I figured that was done," her voice weakly responded.

"F—figured what was done?"

She groaned and sat on the uneven stone beneath her, holding her left elbow against her body.

"Are you alright?" he asked, dropping to one knee next to her.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice indicating the opposite.

"Did something happen? Were you attacked or threatened or—"

"Yea…I was _shot_ , remember?"

"I mean lately. Did something happen here at the cabin to put you on edge?"

"There's nothing to stop them from coming up here. I saw an unfamiliar SUV on that access road this morning. Checked it out, found someone visiting family at the cabin just south of here. But it made me think about the fact that I might still be a target."

The thought of her in danger made him broach a topic he knew she would not like. "Come back with me. My building is secure. You can have the guest room, I promise I have no other motive than your safety—"

"I'm fine. I have my personal gun loaded and with me at all times. If they come for me, I'm ready."

"You were shaking. You never shake when you pull your weapon. You could barely stop me and all I was packing was coffee."

"I have everything under control."

"Jesus, Kate. Just because you _can_ handle everything on your own doesn't mean you _have_ to." As if to demonstrate his point, he first stood and then helped her to her feet.

"I'm not on my own. You visit a couple of times a week, bring me stuff…and we talk almost daily. I'm not alone."

"You can count on me for more than just coffee, stories, and carryout."

"Don't you think I know that?" she countered, voice raising. "You're the only person I've really talked to in weeks, the only one who I've let come here besides Roger. If that's not trust, I don't know what is."

"And exactly why did you say you weren't expecting me today? What did you mean you 'thought that was done'?"

"I figured you weren't coming. Thought you found something better to do, or maybe some perky blond turned your head. You're allowed to have a life, you know."

"I was just late. Traffic and—"

"People are there until they're not," she replied coldly. "You think you know them, and you find out the truth." He watched her eyes move to a folded letter atop a small towel and bands she used in her training.

He reached down for it, and she didn't stop him. "What is this?"

"It's a letter. From Royce," she replied, taking it from his crossed fingers. "He wrote it before he died."

Taking a moment to prepare his attack, he was certain he'd need to delve to find out what was going on, to push and fight to get answers from her. But, unprovoked, she spoke, "Does every relationship end like that one? With betrayal? Pain? Loss?"

"Every relationship has some pain. People, even when they don't want to, sometimes hurt each other. It's part of what happens when another person truly matters to us. And the more someone matters to us, the more that hurt can be amplified."

"So it's best just to avoid relationships altogether."

"No. Not at all," he answered, his eyes full of understanding. "The pain is amplified, it's true. But so is everything else. The empathy. The connection, the bond. The trust. And sometimes, even passion, that fire. Th—the love."

"But there's no way of knowing if it's all going to crumble around you. If everything you think is true is a lie."

"No. You don't know. But isn't not knowing, isn't being surprised, part of being alive?"

"You would think. Lately it feels like all of my surprises involve the people I trust most betraying me, doing things I'd never imagine them doing…or being shot. I could do without surprises like those."

"Give it time. Surprises aren't all good. But many of them are. And the ones that are, the times when something unexpectedly wonderful and exciting happens…those are the things that make life worth living, that make it worth enduring the bad times to get to the good times."

"It's so hard to trust, to really trust, another person. But I think what really scares me is that I can't even trust my own judgement. Maybe I can't see through the lies when I have that connection with someone, like I'm wearing blinders. Maybe I'm a poor judge of character when it comes to those closest to me."

Castle saw segues into actually discussing their relationship, so he optimistically continued, "But there are certain indicators when what you have is something real. People who really care about each other won't let go…no matter what. Look at you and me. After everything, we're still here."

"Are we going to pretend that we haven't hurt each other?"

"No. We aren't going to pretend. We've known each other a while now. We've faced some pretty extraordinary situations together, life and death situations. And, yes, we've had a few bumps in the road, but we've overcome so much, so many problems and obstacles, the kind most people never have to even think about."

"And none of it has been easy."

"That's what makes it worth it. When things go wrong, when people fight and explode, but _always_ find their way back to each other no matter what… When someone cares enough to struggle and claw to get close to you again, someone you can't get rid of. That, Detective Beckett, is when you have something real. Something worth the struggle."

She was frozen in fascinated attention, and then he sensed again that he was too exposed, so he deflected with humor. "Or an obsessed stalker."

She tilted her head, crinkled her nose and said, "Excuse me?"

"If you have someone you can't get rid of, you either have a once-in-a-lifetime partnership…or an obsessed crazy person."

"There's no in between?" she reluctantly laughed.

"Nope. So…unless I receive a restraining order, I'm not giving up. I may be late once in a while, but you're not going to get rid of me that easily."

She smiled at him, widely, and shook her head, "No restraining orders have been filed. I'm the one who called you, remember?"

"Speaking of which," he began mentally arguing the merits of pursuing his line of thought, "What made you call that first night? You really just wanted someone to read to you?"

Her mouth twitched as she worked through her response, gazing out over the lake. "I…missed your voice. I wasn't ready to talk about anything, definitely not ready to come back to work but… I'm so used to you in my ear."

Adoring the bashful look on her face, he gently replied, "I missed it too, being that voice in your ear. And hearing yours as well."

The romantic in him dreamed of a sunset, and the warm auburn glows that would radiate from her face in the slowly dimming light. He imagined a world where her every movement wasn't highlighted by pain, and this conversation flowed through their hearts when she finally closed the gap and kissed him. If only. But he sighed, knowing that this still wasn't the time for them, and as much as he would fight whatever stood in his way to be close to her, he knew well enough not to push and risk losing it all.

Just as he was prepared to change the subject, she apparently had the same idea. "I sure could use a cup of that coffee right now," she suggested.

He held up a thermos and nodded toward the house. She reached for her pile of things on the ground, but he hurriedly gathered them up for her when he saw the pain she was in. He put the note from Royce, the one he was _dying_ to read, on the pile without so much as unfolding it. As they walked up to the cabin, he asked, "You aren't pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

"Pushing myself just hard enough. I need to be ready, Castle. I need to get back out there."

* * *

That afternoon, Kate seemed particularly tired, so they went through the collection of DVDs left there by the family. This cabin didn't have cable or WiFi, so they finally selected a tattered box set of black-and-white classic horror movies. The pair settled in the tacky loveseat, beige with greenish forest scenes printed on fabric. It was the only piece of furniture perfectly placed to watch the tiny, ancient television. The screen turned on, the top of the snowy image bent slightly, but the DVD player refused to work.

"I can't believe you haven't watched any TV this entire time!" he commented as he studied the machine. He messed with it for a while and sighed in disappointment. "Oh, we could watch it on my laptop," he suggested.

When he turned, he saw Kate nestled down in the sofa, brow wrinkled in discomfort. "Yea, that's fine," she answered, her voice distant.

"You have been overdoing it," he commented.

"I just want to be ready, figure out what's going on, and put all of this behind me."

"I want that, too. But you have to do it the right way. It takes time. Roger said rest is as important as—"

"I know," she grumbled. "I just want to soak in a steaming bath for an hour, maybe two. A shower just isn't the same. My muscles are sore, that's all. I'll be fine."

"How much longer until you're allowed to soak again?" he asked, fetching and turning on his laptop.

"Next week I have to go back to the city. I see the surgeon Thursday, and the cardiologist Friday. If the incisions are healed enough, I'm soaking all Thursday night," she chuckled.

"Would you let me drive you?"

"No," she immediately scoffed. She picked up on the rejection he felt and said, "It's too much to drive the whole way out here to turn around and—"

"I'm driving here anyway. I'll make you a deal…you let me take you to your appointment with the surgeon, and I will book you a hotel room with the absolute best Jacuzzi tub in the city. After the surgical follow-up, you can soak straight through the night until the cardiologist."

"That isn't necessary."

"But it is _so_ worth it. Believe me…you don't want to turn down this reservation." Worried that she would be suspicious he was suggesting a romantic evening, he added, "A reservation for one."

"Fine," she nodded, scooting a little closer to him so she could see the screen on his lap. "We going to watch this movie or what?"

He noted her soreness just in those few inches of movement, determining that her exercise routine on her days alone was probably more rigorous than the one he saw. The obsession in her to solve the case, to avenge not only her mother, but the attack upon her as well, was burning more furiously than it had before. He was quite certain, if she kept going like this, she was going to get herself killed. Buying time, he added, "The case, those people who did this, will still be there in a week, or a month, or a year. When you're back to 100%, we'll get them _together_. But don't try to go after them before you're ready. I don't send my books to my publisher before they're done. You need to be completely healed. Give yourself time to get there."

"I am, Castle," she winced, and he couldn't tell if it was from pain or irritation. "Speaking of books, how's yours coming?"

"Slow. Mother has been _intense_. Even for her. She had Alexis rehearsing all through the apartment yesterday. I couldn't even think much less write anything. She has this retreat going on this weekend with a few friends and I thought she'd be gone, but apparently they've decided to have it at my place. She's roped Alexis in. It's going to be hell."

"Sounds like it," Kate answered.

He clicked play on the DVD menu, and as the movie came up, she said, "I kinda owe you for all this coffee."

"I'll add it to your tab," he countered without concern.

"I thought maybe I could pay off part of my debt now."

His head jerked to face her, and his throat went instantly dry as he tried to swallow, wondering what she had in mind. "Uhh," he began, once again at a loss for words when he needed them.

"You could work here this weekend. Instead of going home this Friday when you come up, just stay until Sunday. Even Monday if you need to. The sofa's not the best, but it's quiet here. I'll leave you alone to write during the day. When you need a break we can crowd around your laptop and watch a movie, or sit down by the lake. Probably not the most exciting weekend you've ever had, but I promise there won't be any acting retreats here."

"You'd do that for me?" Before she could withdraw the offer, he added, "I accept. I'll bring groceries, and—"

"Let me handle that," she assured. "You've brought me enough coffees and dinners. There's a local woman who runs to the store for me so it's not a problem."

He grinned, wishing it was Friday already. The movie started, and he felt Kate's arm brush against his. His laptop screen wasn't very large, and it gave him the perfect excuse to sit huddled close to her. Had he thought of this sooner, he would have suggested a movie and intentionally broken the DVD player during his first visit there.

She was so close he could smell her skin, the lightly fruity scent of her hair. He could feel her arm move with each cycle of breath, and his lungs began to match hers. The places where their bodies came into incidental contact felt like they were on fire, and they consumed all of his conscious thoughts. Part of him was ashamed this his easy, debonair persona had gone missing, leaving behind a nervous excitement more befitting a very first date.

Before he knew it, the movie was half over, and all he remembered about it so far was Kate, and her closeness, and how much he enjoyed even these circumstantial touches even if they weren't enough. He seriously considered putting his arm around her, making some excuse that it would make it easier to see, but instead he felt frozen in place, soaking in the intimacy they shared over the flickering screen.

When the movie was nearly over, Kate fell asleep, her head lulling slowly to his shoulder as she sunk down in the cushions. He'd never known her to be so thoroughly exhausted, and he couldn't help but note a totality in her trust, a trust that allowed her to be entirely vulnerable next to him.

The end credits began to roll, and there was no way he was going to move. His left arm was against her, so he reached out with his right and opened the document that contained his book ideas. He started pecking at the keys, making notes for the story, because it felt like ideas were somehow flowing from her into him. Typing was a slow process with only one hand, not that he cared. He wondered if, one day, they'd sleep next to each other intentionally, cuddled in an actual bed.

She began to mumble softly, and at first he hoped she would talk in her sleep, maybe tell him some tidbit he needed to hear. But he began to realize she was arguing right before she bolted up to fight the dream. Seconds after engaging the unseen threat, her physical limitations knocked her back down on her ass. She called out her discomfort, clenching her side. He saw beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "It's okay, Kate," he said with his most reassuring tone. "Just a dream."

"Sorry," she mumbled stiffly.

Her shoulders were bunched up around her neck, and it looked like she was in the grips of a terrible muscle spasm. He placed a hand softly on her upper back and said, "I think I can help with that."

"It'll pass."

Spreading his fingers along her shoulder, his thumb settling on the space right beside her scapula, he very subtly massaged the spasming muscle. Careful to keep his touch cautious and respectful, he glanced at her face to measure her reaction. He was rewarded with an immediate, although soft, sigh of relief.

"Want me to stop?" he queried.

"You don't have to do…" she began, her jaw going slack and shoulder dropping a bit as her words faded.

"I want to. Unless I'm making you uncomfortable."

His hand stopped and he pulled it away, but she shook her head. She smiled softly, and said with striking sincerity, "You don't make me uncomfortable. That felt nice."

"Good," he answered, hoping she couldn't see the flush across his skin that she provoked.

He brought both hands to her shoulders and began working the tension from them. Her shoulders gradually relaxed, and she started to tilt her head from side to side, stretching and appearing more able to move than she had been even a few minutes earlier. He wondered how she could even function with so much stiffness, not to mention the pain more directly associated with her wounds.

He touched her hips to direct her to turn so her back was fully toward him and she was seated sideways on the furniture. "Where's the incision on your side?" he whispered, his voice emerging in a much lower register than he'd expected.

She reached across her body, covering the spot to show him where to avoid. He worked down the sides of her spine cautiously, deeply massaging into her lower back. Her head lowered slowly until she leaned on a pillow over the arm of the love seat.

His heart swelled with the gravity of her surrender, but at the same time the depth of her pain punched at him. His desire to love, protect, and care for this woman was redefining him, shaking him to his foundation. It hurt not to hug her, to restrain his arms from pulling her close and holding her while she slept. But he breathed evenly and reminded himself of how difficult vulnerability was for her.

She sat up suddenly, and he looked at his hands to verify that they were respectfully placed. He verbally stumbled, "Sorry. Did I—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. I was drifting off again. Thank you. That feels so much better, but you can stop."

"Okay," he awkwardly began.

"I really appreciate it. You know if you ever decide you don't want to be a writer, or a volunteer detective, you clearly have a future in massage therapy."

"Any time you'd like, my hands are at your disposal."

"I never thought the day would come that you'd pass up a chance to suggest that I take my shirt off," she teased, but he sensed her confidence was still not healed either.

"Oh, trust me, I'm cataloging every missed opportunity, every time I have to withhold comment, or refrain from ogling you. And I intend to cash them all in," he teased. "I need you to be healed so I can feel the full brunt of your disapproval. Or, if you're so inclined, I'll be ready for one of those temping little suggestions you toss out there that you know will scramble my brain and reduce it to cave-man-thoughts only mode. Either way, I can't wait."

She chuckled and answered, "I'll be prepared for the onslaught."

"You better be…It's gonna be spectacular."

A little later, he stood and gathered his things to go home for the night. She looked like she had something to say, and he tried to imagine what action he could take or words he could speak to unlock her secrets. "What?" he finally asked.

"I was just thinking it will be nice Friday…when you don't have to leave," she tentatively answered.

"Oh?" he wondered, moving into her personal space.

"You're still planning on spending the weekend, right?" After a moment of silence, she added, "I _meant_ are you still planning on coming here to write?"

"I wouldn't miss it—," he replied, suppressing the desire to crush her up against him for what felt like the millionth time that day. After an effective pause, he added, "—the chance to write."

He pried himself away from her stare and walked out to his car. As he buckled his seatbelt, he saw her looking out the window toward his car. In spite of all of the things she'd faced as of late, he felt the spark of hope was still there within her.

He'd been optimistic before that maybe things were about to change for them, but this time something really felt different. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Up Next: Chapter 3: Castle overhears Kate and Roger clashing over her recovery and fitness regimen. Although Rick worries about their timing, words and actions begin to heat up when he spends the weekend.


	6. The Conspiracy: Chapter 3 (Post S3AU)

**Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 3**

* * *

Rick could not wait for Friday and his weekend at the cabin with Kate. When the day finally arrived, he hurried out of bed like a kid on Christmas morning, scrambling to see what surprises awaited him. Alexis and his mother were already setting up for the gathering at their apartment, and when his mother suggested, "The best thing for Kate Beckett would be to get her mind off everything! Perhaps you could bring her here, and she could be part of this gathering of artists."

He continued getting ready, and saw her knowing smile. Martha could sense his excitement, and he could see both her hope for her son's happiness, and her fear that once again he would be disappointed.

In his hurry, he nearly forgot his laptop. Writing was the last thing on his mind, but he wanted to hang onto the excuse so he could stay. Quickly sharing his goodbyes with his family, he went off to the cabin. He'd grabbed a few DVDs, scary ones to make their hearts pound, mysteries to intrigue, and a few classic tales of epic romance they could watch under the guise of brilliant cinema.

The drive felt longer that day, and each time his foot pressed more heavily on the accelerator, he reminded himself that he didn't want to show up too much earlier than normal. The sound of crunching gravel beneath his tires told him he'd arrived, he was finally there. He wondered if Kate was looking forward to this a fraction as much as he was.

He took his overnight bag and laptop from the trunk, and the sound of raised voices caught his immediate attention. His inner self reminded him that he shouldn't have left her up there, alone and vulnerable. He carefully closed the lid of the trunk without making a noise, and followed the voices.

He definitely recognized the sound of Kate when frustrated, and soon after remembered Roger's voice. The pair were arguing outside of the house. Kate was absolutely drenched in sweat, her cheeks red as she breathed hard. Just as Castle was about to grab Roger and yank him away from Beckett, the therapist said, "You need to have common sense, Kate. Whatever this vendetta is certainly is not worth your life."

"You're being dramatic," Beckett countered dismissively. "It was a _jog_."

"I saw you. That was not 'a jog.' Besides, I read your doctor's orders. They were perfectly clear. Absolutely no exertion, no heavy cardio, especially not miles away from the nearest hospital and alone with no one to help if something goes wrong!"

"What's going on here?" Rick asked as he approached.

"Oh good," Roger scoffed. "I hope you at least care enough about her to wait until she's better."

"What exactly are we talking about?" Castle wondered.

"I know why you come up here. And if you couldn't wait to make a move on her while she still had a boyfriend, I doubt her health is enough incentive for patience."

"Okay, I'm lost—"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Roger," Kate interrupted. "You have no idea what's going on."

"Don't I? Josh told me you kissed your _writer friend_ while the two of you were still together," Roger argued.

Castle turned to Kate, feeling dizzy with confusion. They never spoke, or even hinted, about their undercover kiss. Sometimes he'd wondered if it really happened. "How did Josh know that—"

"That doesn't sound like a denial," Roger chimed in.

"We were undercover," Rick explained.

"You don't owe him an explanation, Castle." Kate turned to Roger and retorted, "Josh asked, and I was honest. And I thought that conversation was between the two of us, but clearly he chose to share with his friends."

"You're right. You don't owe me an explanation," Roger replied. "You're a good cop, Kate. I feel safer with you in the world, so I want to help you get back out there. But you make risky decisions. What happens if you're up here running and you have a heart attack, or a blood clot, or any of the other things that could conceivably happen. And I know enough to know that your friend here is more prone to get you into trouble than to help keep you safe."

"I'll see you Monday," Kate replied, refusing to discuss this any further with Roger.

"If you still want to work with me, call me after you have your appointments. I'm not working with you until I'm sure you're healthy enough. I don't want to come up here and find you dead because you decided to blatantly disregard your doctors' orders. Be safe, Kate. Be smart. Please."

Without further delay, Roger left. Kate began to stretch, carefully but fully, and Castle was somewhat aware that she was speaking, but didn't comprehend to her words.

"What the hell was he talking about?" Rick interrupted. Explaining so she knew what he was referring to, he added, "Heart attacks? Blood clots?"

"I told you I have follow-up appointments soon."

"Yea, but…I guess I didn't realize how serious this still is."

"It was heart surgery. They're just being overly cautious," she added calmly. "I'm sure the lawyers make them—"

Rick interrupted, "You went for a run?"

"Circled the lake in 52 minutes. Should be almost half that, but I'll get there."

"You ran around the lake?"

"Yea," she proudly replied.

He noted the way the sweat marks on her chest were still spreading, and he realized what a challenge that must have been.

"Beckett, have you completely lost your mind?" he asked, voice raising at the end of the question.

"What?" she chuckled, expecting a joke from him.

"I'm hardly Roger's biggest fan, but he's right…you took a huge risk. What would have happened if you would have had a heart attack out there? It could have been weeks before you were found, this lake is so densely wooded. Imagine for a second what that would do to your father. Ryan and Esposito? You're like a sister to them. And me?" he added the last part just a bit more quietly.

"You'd be fine," she tried to play it off. "Perfect excuse to go on a long book tour and comfort yourself with some 'adoring fans.'" She chuckled, even softly elbowed him at the end to show she was teasing.

But he couldn't take that, he couldn't joke about this. "Don't do that," he harshly retorted.

"Do what?" she asked as she led him toward the house.

He stepped in front of her and said, "Your death is not a joke to me. Not ever. And for you to reduce my feelings toward you to something easily forgotten with a couple of meaningless trysts…that's just cruel. And it's not fair."

"God, Castle, you're taking this way too seriously."

"I'm not. If something happened to you, if I didn't stay here and keep you safe…"

"What?" she pushed.

"I'd never recover from that. This thing with us, whatever it is…means a hell of a lot more to me than that. Clearly it means more to me than it does to you."

"You can't say that."

"Can't I? Those criminals will still be out there in a week, or a month. And you aren't the only cop. And if something happens to you, you won't be able to do anything to stop them. If you cared for us, for any of those who love you, you'd take care of yourself. You wouldn't take pointless risks, put yourself in harm's way to get back out there a few weeks earlier. This war you're fighting…you aren't the only one involved anymore."

"That is so rich," she scoffed derisively.

"What is?"

"You're lecturing me about taking risks and putting myself in harm's way? You've done that from the first moment I met you, long before that, actually. You never stayed in the damn car, never stayed safe. You take pride in going rogue! Don't you think that was hard for me? Is _still_ hard for me?"

"You don't ask me to stay in the car anymore."

"I gave up! And if you're in the car, I can't protect you. At least if we head into danger together, I'm by your side. I know where you are. I can try to look out for you. But every single time we go into these situations…" she trailed off, heading into the cabin and shaking her head. He thought she mumbled, "I can't do this right now," but it wasn't quite clear.

He followed. "Can't do what?"

"Nothing."

"No. Not nothing. I need to hear what you were going to say. 'Every single time we go into these situations…' Finish the thought."

"It terrifies me," she replied through gritted teeth. "I'm still scared every time we walk into danger together that I'll fail you. That something will happen to you. That you'll be hurt…or worse. And I feel the weight of all of those who love you on my shoulders because it's my responsibility to get you through the day and back home every night safely."

"You've never said that."

"There's no point. You won't listen. Don't you think Martha and Alexis count on me to get you home? And what's worse, you… _you_ trust me to make sure you get home every night. I don't want to let you down, or them."

"Must be hard running a charity protection service," he jabbed.

"I don't look at you like that," she fought back. "You know better."

"Do I?"

"I hope so."

"Tell me what I know," he challenged.

"I—I want you by my side. I wouldn't pick any other partner to be there with me every step of the way. But that doesn't mean I'm blind to the risks. It doesn't mean I wouldn't be devastated if something happened. You take chances every day. Sometimes far crazier chances than my jog."

"Kate—," he began more sympathetically, thoughts swirling with possibilities.

"I'm going to grab a shower. I'll leave you alone so you can get some writing done," she said, hurrying away, favoring her sore side. The way she walked reminded him that she was training and fighting even though she was probably still in serious pain.

* * *

Castle sat down with his computer on the porch and quickly tapped out a chapter, a huge fight between Nikki and Rook that was fueled by the one they'd just had in reality. And when that fight was done, he lacked the ability to write any more. He couldn't think of anyone but her, the thought of her alone and dying somewhere, the thought of her devastated if something happened to him, the thought that so much was still, and it seemed would always be, unsaid between them.

He went in to the cabin to find her. He wanted to ask her why in the hell she'd mentioned their undercover kiss to Josh. They'd always acted like it never happened, but he could still feel her mouth, her fingers in his hair, the breathless moan that she shot through him. Had it felt half as good to her as it had to him? Did it mean something? He tried to think of a flippant way to bring it up, but was having trouble figuring out how. For someone usually so quick with words and jokes, he felt at a loss. He was determined, if an opening presented itself, he was going to take it.

But when he found her, she was curled up in the bed in the far corner of the cabin. He walked closer, stepping as quietly as possible and hoping to avoid any creaky boards. He didn't want to startle her, but needed to make sure she was still breathing. Now his fear of a heart attack was a new reason to worry about her that he hadn't even thought of before.

He watched her pulse dancing against her neck, saw her chest rise and fall as she breathed, and felt some relief. Prying himself away so she didn't wake and find him staring at her, he told himself that he wasn't sure he'd ever really get over his love for her. He wasn't sure if it was even possible.

He went out to the love seat they'd sat in only a few days earlier to watch a movie, and he missed her terribly. He couldn't keep going on like this, he needed to know if she shared these thoughts and feelings.

* * *

Castle didn't realize he'd drifted off, but he woke up and heard noise in the kitchen. As he got up to check on Kate, some phenomenal smells greeted him. He froze in his tracks when he first saw her standing by the stove. She had an oversized shirt that thoroughly covered her, but the tiniest shorts he'd ever seen her wear, and instinctively his head tilted as he stared at the mile-long stretch of her legs. She didn't turn around to see him, but said, "Sleep well?"

"Yea," he answered. "You?"

She just nodded and kept on cooking. Grabbing a bottle of wine, she poured him a tall glass and handed it across the counter. "Get any writing done?"

"Yea. A particularly angst-filled section that has alluded me until today."

"Well, don't worry, Castle, I'm good at provoking feelings of angst," she sadly joked.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you. I want to protect you like you protect me. I know I'm not a cop, I know you can take care of yourself. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to."

Staring for a moment, all food preparation stopped, she failed to respond, and he wasn't sure how they'd ever cut through her defenses and talk about how they felt.

"I know, Rick," she said somberly. She put down the knife and gave him her full attention. "You've had my back more times than I can count. And I don't say it, but I feel the same about you. It's not only my job, but it's my privilege to look after you as my partner. It's not just what I _have_ to do…it's what I _want_ to do. You mean a lot to me, Castle. Even if I'm not good at saying that."

He was reeling with possibilities, thinking of things he wanted to get off his chest. But her well-being came first, and he said, "It's my privilege to be at your side. So will you please agree to skip the intense cardio until after your follow-up so we can continue to _privilege_ each other?"

She giggled softly, "Yes. And you…don't do anything too 'rogue' without me."

"Agreed," he answered, replying with a grin. He tried to continue because she seemed open and he wanted them to talk about so much.

"Hand me the zucchini?"

"Right," he answered, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

They talked while she prepped about a thousand things he didn't really want to talk about, but he enjoyed her company too much to complain. When dinner was in the oven, she asked him to start a fire.

It was a chillier summer evening, and he certainly didn't mind the ambiance of flames, a romantic dinner, and maybe a movie while they gathered around his computer.

He tried to start a fire, and found that it was a bit more difficult than he'd expected. He was a city boy through and through, and all of his fireplaces involved switches instead of kindling. His first few attempts to light the logs were unsuccessful.

She came in and sat down on the hearth and asked, "Want some help with that?"

"Sure," he replied, looking down on her bare knee as it brushed against his thigh.

Reaching for a log, she winced, and he knew once again her body was struggling to heal and dealing with the aftereffects of her ambitious workout earlier.

"You okay?" he asked.

"It's _possible_ ," she conceded, "that my run was a little too much this morning."

"Possible?" he teased.

"Grab that bucket of kindling, please," she requested, pointing. She carefully arranged the sticks and some newspaper with a few slightly larger pieces of timber. She placed other larger pieces near, but not on the fire.

She lit it, and he remained next to her on the hearth, the pair facing each other as they watched the flames spread and begin to take off. When a good bit of flame was going, she added another, larger piece of timber, and then another. She looked at a huge log nearby, and he reached behind himself to grab it before she could. It seemed far too heavy for her in her present state.

Instructing him on where to put it, she gave orders and he followed them, and returned to his spot facing her.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," she said. "I wish you didn't have to hear that. None of what Roger said, my breakup with Josh, or anything he was talking about, had anything to do with you. None of it was your fault."

Rick leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "That's too bad."

"Hunh?" she asked, perplexed.

"I was hoping your breakup with him had at least a little to do with me," he only half-teased.

"Well. Maybe."

They sat quietly for a moment, and then his thoughts flowed without caution or filter, "Why did you tell Josh about the kiss?"

"Umm," she began, pressing her fingers to her forehead as she thought. He knew that if she answered, she'd have to admit to him that it happened. They'd both acknowledge here, alone together, that at one time their lips passionately met, regardless of the circumstances.

To put her a little at ease, he added, "I mean it wasn't a _real_ kiss."

"Oh?" she began, appearing disappointed, but rerouted. "Of course, right. It wasn't."

"Part of the job. We were trying to save our friends. What happens undercover…"

"Exactly."

"So then really you weren't obligated to tell him."

"He asked. And I was honest."

"He asked?"

"Yea…I mean…" Kate paused, leaning her forearms on her knees and mirroring his posture. "When we broke up, he insisted that it had something to do with my relationship with you…that I never really dove into my relationship with him because I wasn't fully available."

"Well, he was busy saving the world, he wasn't there for you—"

Kate chuckled, "Which is exactly what I said. And it was true. But he was right…I never really threw myself into that relationship, even when he was there. I never would have even started dating him except… …it doesn't matter, the point is—"

"No, it definitely matters," Rick interrupted. "You wouldn't have started dating him if what?"

"That summer you went to the Hamptons to finish your book? Well, this is stupid, but right before you left, I thought you were interested in me. I broke up with Demming and—I can't believe I'm talking about this. Must be the wine."

She pressed her hands to the hearth to stand, but Castle tapped his fingers to her knee as if that could hold her down. "You've had half a glass, if that."

She sighed unhappily, and continued quickly, "Maybe my ego was bruised, a little, okay? Because I thought you were interested, but it turned out you were back with Gina. I felt stupid and…I decided to get back out there and meet someone. And I did. Anyway, we're way off topic."

Castle's brain was entirely overloaded. His voice was so uncertain, entirely unlike its usual authoritative sound. "I didn't know. It is possible that I was nursing a bit of a bruised ego myself." He wanted her to continue talking, to tell him she'd loved him all along, because he was terrified of having his heart broken. "Please continue. You were saying you weren't that invested in your relationship with Josh…"

"Right. Yea, so he kept pushing, asking if I was ending it because of how I felt about you. He wanted me to swear that nothing ever happened between you and me, and…I admitted that we kissed. Once."

"But you told him we were undercover, obviously."

She tightly pressed her lips closed and shook her head before she admitted, "Nope."

"Why?"

"Because—," the timer went off for dinner, and she gratefully accepted the reprieve, hurrying to the oven.

He followed, watching her check the items before pushing the trays back inside. "It's not quite ready yet," she stated, seeming convinced that she had effectively ended the last part of their conversation. "Sorry for the wait, I'm sure you're hungry and—"

Castle interrupted, not accusing but stating as if his words were undeniable fact, "You didn't tell him it was undercover because it was more than that. Because you've wanted to kiss me, and I've wanted to kiss you, for a long time. So even though we were undercover, there was something more to it."

Beckett looked down at the counter, her teeth pinching the inside of her cheek while she thought. Finally she nodded, but couldn't even seem to face him.

Lightening the mood, he said, "Well it was a pretty unforgettable kiss…except for the fact that you were looking at another guy the whole time."

Laughing at his joke, she replied, "A heavily armed thug, ready to attack, can really destroy a mood."

He came close, leaning against the counter next to the oven. "Makes you wonder," he posited, "what it would be like without the looming, heavily armed thug."

Her need to push back still existed, so she immediately jabbed, "Maybe it makes _you_ wonder, Castle, but…" His eyes fell, and he started to think the instinct to push him away would always exist in her. Maybe she wasn't capable of dropping her guard. But her presence created a shadow, and he looked up and found her in front of him. "I've wondered, too," she confessed.

Her tongue subtly poked between her lips, moistening them, and she purposefully reached out her good arm and rested her palm on his shoulder, his head turning to follow it to the landing point. She raised just slightly on her tiptoes and brought her face to his. He felt himself focusing dumbly, like he couldn't quite figure out what was going on. Her eyebrows gathered at the center in question, and when he didn't come forward to meet her, she lowered her heels to the ground. He could see it, disappointment and rejection in her eyes, and he couldn't stand it for a moment longer.

His fingers glanced along her neck, his thumb against her cheek as his eyes locked in on hers. Standing fully from his leaning position, he came to her this time, covering the majority of the distance and staring adoringly at her. That last half inch was taken slowly, eyelids only fluttering closed when lips finally met. Still, even at that moment, he waited for her to pull away, and instead felt her hand surround the back of his head to hold him close.

The flesh of their lips softly met, just acclimating to the intimacy of such a slow, intentional kiss. She was the first to part her lips, and it felt like the gates of paradise parting for him to enter. He was already panting, probably too loudly given the tender nature of the exchange, but it was so different when his heart was involved, when there'd been so much longing and desperation before that moment. She came even closer, her breasts touching his chest, the fronts of her thighs against his, and already he knew there was no innocence to this moment. He'd had sex before that wasn't this sultry, this arousing, so intensely interpersonal.

As soon as he accepted the invitation offered by her parted mouth, he gently allowed his tongue to venture against her lips and beyond. Each responded to the other's every move, neither invading, but both joining, exploring, and melding. Her fingers splayed through his hair, eventually moving to the side of his face. The way she touched his ear, so personal a touch, made him wonder what her lips would feel like in her fingers' place. His mind immediately imagined them both naked, slowly and deeply fucking with the same intensity of this kiss, her lips against his ear while he sucked her neck. There was no way to describe his longing.

She ended this kiss, pressing her forehead and nose to his, her eyes closed as he felt her heavier breaths. She hummed a subtle, "Mmm," indicating her satisfaction, then brushed her lips to his a few times, and he found himself drawn back in when she nudged his lips open and slinked her tongue into his mouth, seeking.

On his finest day he'd never adequately capture this with words. He'd never fully convey the softness of her lips, the lovely taste of her tongue, the seductiveness of her touch, and the way every moment she was in his arms, she further breached his soul.

His hold tightened as he pulled her close, easily lifting her off the ground as their grunts and moans married in the air. But he went too far, his grip tightening until she cried out in a sound that clearly was not delight. He placed her feet on the ground, his hands capping her shoulders, forehead to hers as he whispered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's fine. I'm fine," she answered, immediately, tenderly, her one hand cradling his cheek.

He felt intense guilt, wondering how much of her suffering she was hiding for his benefit.

Likely to distract him, she asked, "So did kissing before ruin the whole 'first kiss' thing?"

"No," he shook his head decisively. "If anything it made it better. How many people can say they've had two first kisses with the same person? One," he lowered his voice and added with an official tone, "in the line of duty." He paused and smiled and added more flirtatiously, "And one just for the joy of it."

She smiled so fully that it startled him, but then suddenly grew serious, "There's something I should tell you. You need to know in case it changes things for you."

He felt a surge of panic, and began wildly guessing his greatest concerns, "There's someone else? New boyfriend? You're married?"

"No," she calmly responded, adding, "No," a bit more adamantly and then, "No! Are you serious right now?" with a bit of irritation.

"Pregnant?"

"No matter how good that kiss was, I'm pretty sure that's impossible," she joked, trying to ease his somewhat obvious panic.

"I know…I thought maybe…someone else," he said sadly. He had no idea how she felt about children, or even how he felt about having more of them, but he knew damn well if she were to have a child, he wanted to be the one she shared that with.

"No," she shook her head. "Nothing like that."

"Cancer? Terminal illness?" he freaked out.

"No, Castle! Stop trying to guess!" she giggled but still sounded frustrated. "It's nothing like any of those things."

"Okay," he took a steadying breath and waited.

"You were upset with me earlier for not following my doctor's orders."

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he defended.

"I'm not supposed to exert myself…" she hinted, waiting to see if he understood. When he didn't, she added, "I'm not supposed to have sex, Castle. Not until I see the cardiologist and she runs some tests. I feel fine and I'm sure I'd be fine but…" she stopped, tilting her head in confusion. "Why are you smiling at that?"

"I'm not," he replied, trying to look serious.

"You clearly were!"

"I'm not, not at all, it's just—I'm—You know—it's nothing." He shrugged and confessed, "If you're telling me that…it means you were thinking about it. With me. _Before_ your appointment less than a week from now." He had a huge smirk on his face, and knew he was blushing.

"And you _weren't_ thinking about it?" she asked, her expression falling.

"Oh, I _was_. I _definitely_ was. But I have been for years. _Years._ So that's nothing new."

"I think every women ever kissed like that would be thinking about it."

"I don't care what every other woman is thinking about. Just you."

He could tell it was the perfect response by her reaction, but it wasn't a response given to garner favor. It was the absolute truth.

"Anyway," she said, "I didn't want you to feel like I was leading you on. Because I would like to. I would really, really like to. And I think I'd be okay, honestly."

"I'm not taking that risk," he shook his head. "Something happens to you, and I lose you…because I couldn't wait one more week after I've waited years?"

"If you feel that way," she said, raising an eyebrow before she answered the grating sound coming from the timer on the oven.

"Although," he said, pausing as he stared at her ass while she stooped to pull trays from the oven, "Maybe we could just make sure you don't exert yourself. Avoid unnecessary cardio…on your part."

"That won't work," she chuckled.

"It could."

"Clearly you've never had sex with me before. Passive is not how I roll."

The look she gave instantly flared his desire and incited his curiosity. He thought of suggesting handcuffs, but knew that probably wasn't a good first-time suggestion. He empathetically stated, "Next Friday it is. Provided that your appointments go well."

"It's going to go fine," she argued. "An MRI, ECG, and we'll have proof that everything's fine. It's a just formality."

"Of course," he said, feeling a gnawing concern. Every time they got close, it seemed like something always got in the way. He couldn't allow anything to happen to her now.

* * *

After dinner, the pair went to their spots on the couch to watch the movie. He lifted his arm and placed it on the back of the sofa, inviting her to sit close if she wanted to. She immediately took the spot, and he felt his chest puff a bit with pride and happiness. Time had passed, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, he wasn't sure. He also knew he hadn't seen a damn minute of the movie. Again.

Kate was leaning next to him, her legs curled up on the sofa behind her. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his shirt to the point of distraction. It wasn't that her hand on his torso was an especially erotic touch, but the open familiarity was mind blowing. She was making contact as if it were perfectly normal to do so, like the invisible barriers between them were fading.

After a few moments, his hand covered hers, their fingers intertwining. Their digits moved against each other as they softly massaged the other's hand.

He lowered his chin to her forehead, placing a tender and lingering kiss there. She lifted her face toward his, and the moment their eyes met, their lips were drawn together in what quickly became a seething kiss.

His touch roamed along her right side, feeling her body, experiencing her presence against him. His fingers paused as they moved down her back, touching the upper waistband of her shorts and desperately wanting to push past that barrier to feel even more of her. He pulled his wandering hand back to her hip, trying to remove himself from temptation.

But they kept kissing, and he loved the way she was as passionate, tenacious, and exceptional in romance as she was in her work. She took his hand and moved it to her breast, over her shirt, and he stopped kissing her to watch. He focused on it as if mesmerized. She smiled at his fascination, carefully climbing onto his lap. His thumb brushed, circled and teased over her nipple as it stood rigidly against her clothes. His palm cupped and lifted, holding a part of her that until then he'd been forbidden to touch.

She _wanted_ to be touched by him, wanted his hands on her body, and did nothing to disguise that. As much as her actions made this clear, he so much wanted to hear her say those words, to verbalize her desire. But the actions would have to be enough for now.

Their kisses deepened, sometimes fervent, sometimes sweet and gentle. His body ached for release, as he figured hers did as well, but if this was all they could share for the moment, he was more than happy to enjoy it. But as she kissed down his jaw, softly nibbling his earlobe, she nearly made him forget caution. Nearly.

He wasn't sure how he'd survive the next few days before her appointment; they were going to be complete torment. And for some reason, that made him smile.


	7. The Conspiracy: Chapter 4 (Post S3AU)

**A/N-I am SO sorry this took so long! I hope it wasn't so long I've ruined it. I'd love to spend six hours a day writing this stuff, but sadly the universe has other ideas. I apologize in advance for any errors in this chapter. Okay, enough excuses, here's the next. This particular short story has about 2 or 3 chaps left. Thanks for your support, and your patience!**

* * *

 **Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 4**

Castle woke and tried to allow his eyes to adjust enough to see. He saw his phone light up from a notification, just out of his reach. When he tried to move, he felt something weighing on his left side, and realized Kate had fallen asleep there, cuddled against him.

The fire had eased, leaving nothing but a few blinking coals at the bottom of the fireplace that refused to cast any useful glow. His laptop had run out of battery and shut down already, so it had to be three or four in the morning at least. He shifted and reached until he had his phone, then slid down so he was lying more fully beside her. The love seat was small, and both of them were pretty tall, but he wouldn't have left that spot for anything.

First answering a check-in text from Alexis that he knew she'd receive as soon as she woke, he then tilted his phone so he could see Kate in the light from the display. She was deeply sleeping, her face against his ribs. He could not believe all of this was happening.

The night before, she regretfully pulled herself off of his lap, apologizing repeatedly for the fact that she was under restrictions from her doctors, but in truth, he wasn't sure he really minded. There were romantic possibilities here they may not have once sex was involved. He was pretty certain that once they crossed that line, they would have a lot of lost time to make up for. Kate was different from other women in so many ways, but he enjoyed the idea easing into this…well, whatever _this_ was that was going on, and taking things a little slower (if a week could be considered slower).

He hadn't been allowed to openly express his affection before, so he enjoyed the thought of holding her hand, or sleeping with her cuddled against him on the sofa. Then she mumbled and wriggled against him, still asleep, and the feelings and sounds of her reminded him of all of the many, many reasons he was dying to investigate the naked, sweaty, passionate parts of their dynamic as well.

Exercising patience that he'd cultivated all these years with her, he moved his hand to her head and gently brushed her hair away from her face. Her breathing grew harsher over the next few minutes, and her mumbling, although unintelligible, seemed more panicked. She screamed his name and bolted up, knocking his hand and sending his phone crashing to the ground.

"Kate," he said, loudly affirming, "it's okay. It was a dream."

"Castle?" she asked, sounding confused. "You're alright?"

"I'm fine. We fell asleep while watching a movie, and—"

"You must be horrified. I should have warned you this could happen."

"Hey, I'm not horrified. Not at all. Did you dream about the shooting?" he delicately questioned.

"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" she asked.

Before he could argue, she took his hand and led him back to her bed. Something about her taking his hand and leading him there made him powerless to resist. Sleeping on the sofa was one thing, being invited to share a bed seemed much more significant. Since the bed was in the corner, there was only one side to enter by. He got in and moved over to make room. Reaching out for her hand to encourage her to follow, he realized how much she was shaking. "Kate—"

"I need a few minutes, okay?" she quietly requested.

"Sure. I'll be here."

* * *

It had been naïve of her to think she could control her dreams. He'd gotten glimpses, twice now already, and although she wasn't sure how much he could discern, he probably had a pretty clear picture of the trauma that remained below her stoic surface. Kate sat on the porch, blanket around her shoulders. She had two secrets to tell him, two secrets she felt had to come out soon, or he'd be upset that she'd kept them hidden. Just their first day and night together had been so pleasant, and she was worried about what his reaction would be, and if her confessions would ruin their time together.

Kate wondered if he really understood how difficult it had been for her to call him after the shooting. As much as she wanted to handle everything alone, she'd become accustomed to having a partner, to having _him_ as a partner. And the moment she reached out, he came and found her. Somehow, for reasons she wasn't ready to identify aloud, his presence made her feel better. She wasn't sure what it meant for them, for her, or where all of this was going. But she had no regrets about inviting him back into her life.

A text came through on her phone shortly before seven. She glanced down and saw it was from her shrink. Dr. Miura had gone above and beyond, regularly checking in on Beckett beyond their twice a week phone-in appointments. Had it not been for the doc, Kate didn't think she would have had the courage to call Castle.

It was a simple text, just a check in since Kate was far from home and because Miura knew Castle was spending the weekend. Miura never pushed her opinions, but was a master at getting Kate to open up, to talk herself right into the answers she needed. Kate answered succinctly that things were fine. Miura's final text reminded Kate of the things she needed to say. 'Unburdening ourselves, although frightening, can also be freeing. It opens space to deal with other things. Of course only you know the right time.'

Miura texted exactly as she spoke, without shortcut or abbreviation, and Beckett could hear it in the woman's own voice. As if on cue, Beckett heard Castle rummaging through the kitchen. She wondered if her secrets might drive him away, because she didn't want him to go. But it also wasn't fair to expect him to stay if she was hiding important things from him.

He popped out onto the porch and said, "You never came to bed?"

"Had a lot to think about."

"Coffee?" he asked. He held out a mug and said, "It's not monkey-peed-in-battery-acid bad…but it's not what I usually bring you either."

"Thank you, Castle."

"I'll make some pancakes, and—" he paused when her phone lit up with a new text. She could see his immediate interest in the sender.

"I'll help you," she interjected, standing, tucking the phone into her shorts, and walking indoors with him.

He rummaged around in the fridge, already comfortable there, and slapped a plastic container of strawberries on the counter. "Would you cut those?" he requested.

"Sure," Kate replied, nearly chuckling at the two of them making breakfast together. She took the berries, knife, and cutting board to the end of the counter with some water to clean them.

Castle was doing his own thing, happily chatting, whistling, and prepping behind her. The man seemed pretty damn happy, and Kate enjoyed her perceived role in all of that. She also hoped she wasn't going to ruin it. "Wait, wait," he said, hurrying up behind her. "That's all wrong."

"What's wrong?"

"The berries. You need to cut them properly. Allow me to demonstrate," he said, offering a flirty look over her shoulder as he stood right behind her, his arms encircling her. He covered her hands with his, and began instructing her on how to cut the berries just right…even though it was almost exactly the way she'd already been doing it. Her ability to resist him had been waning as of late, but the feeling of standing in his arms, his chest against her back, words whispered near her neck, was definitely hitting the right chords within her.

"A good chef tastes her food as she goes," he suggested, picking a cut piece from the board and lifting it to her lips.

She paused a moment, so accustomed to rebuffing his suggestions, but took the slice. When she took it, she flicked her tongue against the soft underside of his finger, not quite fully sucking but enough to zap his senses. She'd always enraptured him most by subtle actions, so that quick glance of a tongue on his skin made his other hand cover hers a bit more tightly while a quiet "Whah," left his chest.

"You are so damn sexy," he growled. When she laughed, he continued, "I'm serious. You know exactly how to get my mind racing—"

"Your mind?" she scoffed.

"Among other things." His hands both moved to her stomach, pressing down her thighs before pulling her more tightly against him. "I can't wait for Friday."

"Castle…about that," she cautioned, slipping out of his embrace.

"What? You're…having second thoughts?" he asked, already appearing half-crushed while trying to look calm and cool.

"No! I'm not. I want to be open and honest with you. I'm trying to be."

"About?"

"I've been seeing a therapist."

"Yes, I know. He and I clash somewhat regularly."

"Not a physical therapist. A psychiatrist. We meet twice a week, video chat."

"Oh. Because of the dreams? PTSD?"

"That's part of it. I'm not as strong as I was. Not physically. Not mentally. And I hate it."

He came close again, his thumb brushing on her cheek. "Even though you feel like you're not as strong as you were… _yet_ …you're still the strongest person I know. By far. Give yourself time."

"I don't want to spend my whole life being safe, hiding myself from the things that _could_ be because I'm trying to protect myself."

"I'm glad," he said, appearing so desperate to beam at her that stifling it seemed painful.

"I am too, but it doesn't come easily for me. It takes work."

"Okay," he replied, his enthusiasm receding a bit, as if he knew she was still a work in progress.

"There's one other thing."

"Tell me," he requested, although blanching subtly with concern.

"I just want to get this off my chest." He gestured for her to continue, so she did. "I lied to you…after my surgery." She held her head high, facing this moment she'd fretted over.

"About?"

She wrestled with herself, with her well ingrained sense of self-preservation. Finally yanking the words from her throat, she said, "I remember everything. Clearly. I remember you pushing me out of the way. I remember the things you said."

"Oh," he replied, looking downward.

"I was scared. I didn't know how to react…and—"

"The thought of me loving you scared you?"

"Yea. A little. But what really scared me—still scares me—is what it could mean. What my feelings for you mean. I had just been shot and I…" she saw his hurt face, and took his hand in both of hers. "That was one of the major reasons I reached out to my shrink. I didn't want to hurt you, I still don't. I didn't know why the things you said that day impacted me so much."

"Did you figure it out?"

"I think so. I think it's because…this could be something real. I've never known a man so well or let him know me this well, and that was before we even started dating. You matter to me in so many ways that the thought of losing that…of losing you…I'm not good at long term relationships. And if I lose you, I lose a friend, and a partner and, well… _you_. And I thought if we were going to pursue this, I wanted to be sure. I just wasn't ready to deal with the things you said. Not then."

"A lot happened to you that day," he said, trying to sound understanding. "I'm sure it was overwhelming."

"I am sorry that I lied. I was a mess. I was heavily medicated, I was still dating Josh at the time and I needed to take care of that."

"I understand."

"You're important to me, Castle. Important enough to do things right."

He finally smiled, a little.

"But the doc helped me figure out some stuff. She helped me realize why it scared me. She helped me realize what you mean to me. And that…still scares me." She chuckled softly. "You could hurt me in a way that I don't usually allow people to hurt me. My heart is on the line with you and I can't keep the distance I usually like to keep. I don't like admitting that. I don't like being vulnerable. And I haven't allowed myself to be open, truly open, I think since my mom was killed. Pretty much my entire adult life. I don't even know if I can really be open."

"Why are you trying now?" he asked, shrouded in empathy and interest.

"Because…you're worth it. And so am I."

"I'm worth it?" he said, his grin showing through.

"You have a wild imagination, a knack for speculation that sometimes drives me insane, and no one, and I mean NO ONE, knows how to push my buttons like you do. You're ridiculous, and silly…and sometimes, that's exactly what I need. And at the same time, you're loyal, devoted, and even brilliant on occasion," she said as she smirked playfully. "You'd do anything for the people you care about, risk it all. And when you need to, you can be serious, and protective. And you have been there for me."

"Sounds like it might be worth the risk."

"For me, sure. But I'm not sure if it's worth it to you. I'm really messed up, Castle. Too used to being on my own. Not good at being open. My relationships don't last. I'm trying, but I don't want to lose what we have."

"You could say the same about me. I have a couple of failed marriages behind me, and a history with women that you may not be very fond of. But this, you and me, it's different for me, too. It's been worth waiting for. And still is. And the fact that you don't want to lose me, that you're trying to be open, hell, even the fact that you called me, you chose to reach out to me…all that makes me feel like we have a chance. It's a chance I'm willing to take. And even though you may not be quite ready…I still feel the same as I did that day. _Not_ that we have to talk about it right now. I just want you to know that I'm still right here, and my feelings… haven't changed."

* * *

The sky was dim and overcast in the evening, foretelling rain in the future, but for the time everything was still. Although the clouds were swelling with potential, there weren't any rain drops, or even winds rustling the trees. It was oddly peaceful.

He wrote for the better part of the day, and Kate watched him when she could without being obvious. It was different watching him write than seeing him when he was working a case. He had that same intensity about him, total devotion to the ideas ping-ponging in his head. But instead of chattering away, he was largely quiet, living the scenes and dialog in his head and through his keyboard. She felt that it was a little unfair that he could join her in a case in those exciting moments of epiphany, but she couldn't be part of his work as the ideas flowed.

Beckett sat with a book she was only half reading between stealing peeks at him. Almost as if he was slapped out of his creative mode, he halted writing and stared at her with purpose and expectation. Standing and walking immediately to her, he held out his hand. She took it, noting his care and patience as he brought her to her feet. "What's going on?" she asked.

He nodded toward the door and the pair walked out into the temperate, quiet evening. Taking his phone, he gazed at the display, and she wondered why he'd insist on bringing her out here to watch him stare at it. But she heard music arise from his device. She recognized Coltrane immediately, and scanned her memories to try to remember if she'd ever told him of her fondness for the music or if he'd researched her on his own. Or perhaps it was yet another of many interests they shared in spite of the litany of differences between them.

He dropped his phone in his shirt pocket, speaker up, then swooped his arm around her and held her close. The moment was heavy with emotion as they connected, his face at first that rare severely honest look that almost made him appear angry. His eyes moved over her face before the expression softened into a smile, and only then did he begin to sway.

It was strange for her to allow him so close, to share intimacy in this way. In some ways, sex would have been easier. If they could have hopped into bed together, the expressions would have been physical, which was safer than putting her heart on the line. Although she still didn't yet experience the feeling of him inside her or know the sensations of his bare skin hot against hers, what was happening was truly intimate in a way she'd never had before. She craved more.

She didn't know how long they danced there, sometimes barely swaying, holding each other just so they could be close. At some point, the sun had set, not in bursts of color on a clear night, but simply the gradual dimming of a cloudy sky.

She remembered a time when it seemed his only interest in her was in bedding her, and back then she never imagined such tenderness could exist between them. And she wondered how much of it was that he had truly changed, and how much of it was that he had dropped some of his defenses to let his true self out. They were similar like that, she thought. Her defenses were built of walls, and his were built of cocky bad-boy charm, but they both kept their hearts safely obscured.

He stared into her eyes, letting her see through him as she offered the same openness. They heard leaves in the distance being tapped with rain and knew it was soon time to head indoors. It was odd to see him so devoid of playfulness or sadness, just a raw desire that was somehow so much more than lust. She found it mesmerizing.

"Maybe we should go inside," he suggested.

"Probably," she replied, taking his hand and walking backward toward the cabin, feeling compelled to keep her eyes glued to his.

They scarcely spoke for the rest of the night, although the silence was not uncomfortable. When the hour became late, she took him to the bed, waiting for him to find a spot lying on his back before she snuggled up next to his side. Bathed in comfort and warm feelings, she let herself be swept up with him. But beneath it all was the simple truth: with feelings so intense, this could be wonderful, a start of something new. Or, if it failed, it could crush her.

* * *

When Castle woke in the morning, he felt the frustration of their wait married with the satisfied happiness of his heart. They'd slept in the single most uncomfortable bed he'd ever known. It was somehow too firm in some spots and saggy in all of the wrong places. Yet he'd never slept better.

While they were making coffee a short while later, she said, "So…it's our last night together."

He felt like he'd been kicked in the head, gut, and testicles all at the same time. "What do you mean 'last night'?"

"Last night of the weekend," she explained with a chuckle.

"Yeah…no, it's not okay to say it like that." He knew he was being emphatic, but he didn't like the way those words made him feel.

"You're overreacting a bit."

"Am I? Because I don't think I am. You've been shot before. You've had your apartment blown up. We've been locked in freezers and watched bombs tick down almost to zero, Beckett. Bad things happen to you. Let's not tempt fate by putting it out there."

"Okay," she appeased.

"In fact…maybe you should come back with me tomorrow morning."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Kate said, almost too quickly. "I'm probably safer here."

"You're alone out here."

"Maybe I'm not ready to go back."

"Come home with me," he said, his touch running down her arm before he took her hand in his. "My building is secure. I can even hire someone for a few days, an extra set of eyes for the door. Just until you're back to 100%."

"If I am in danger, do you really want to bring that trouble right to your door? Right to Alexis and Martha?"

"It's safe for them there, too. We'd all be safe."

"I'm sure they don't want me there and—"

"Nonsense. They're both worried about you. They'd love to see you."

"I'm not ready," she insisted, a bit coolly.

It was clear she was done with this argument. He felt a mounting fear at her alone in this place. Although she'd turned distant so quickly, he could sense her attempt not to withdraw too thoroughly. She reached up and gently kissed his cheek to soothe his sadness. "Hey," she insisted, "everything will be fine."

"Right," he responded, attempting a smile that failed horribly.

The whole day felt a little melancholy. When he'd left home last Friday morning, he felt like they had so much time together. He'd stayed as long as invited, but Monday morning he needed to go home. He knew he'd worry about Kate every moment they were apart. As beautiful as the cabin was, the surrounding area was dark and isolated. At times he was certain he heard footsteps in the woods, even after she insisted that it was just the local wildlife.

He didn't want to ruin the entire day, though, so he tried to swallow his fears.

That evening he got a shower beneath the underwhelming spray. He had to duck to get low enough to wash his hair, and the water came at a pathetically weak stream, barely warm. And in spite of all of this, and the lumpy-yet-hard mattress, lack of WiFi and the amenities he'd grown accustomed to, he still didn't want to leave. At least not without her.

When he came back out, Beckett hurried past him to get her own shower without a word. For a moment he thought she was upset, then he realized what she'd done. Around the cabin she'd lit a few candles. The living area had another beautifully flickering fire. On the floor in front of it, he saw a pile of blankets and pillows, and a few snacks beside a chilled bottle of wine. She'd placed his laptop near the cozy nesting place she'd setup, presumably to watch another movie.

It seemed extremely romantic, especially for Beckett. He'd been operating under the assumption that he'd be the one to initiate and setup such encounters, not her. It made her effort all the more touching. He had a sudden idea strike about a chapter and sat down with his computer. He quickly typed a few paragraphs, and then heard the shower shut off.

When she entered the room, she was wearing one of his button down shirts, and he felt the automatic pant of appreciation escape his chest. The sight of her was fantastic, even though it felt a little unfair to see her like that when they still couldn't be physically as close as they both obviously wanted to be.

"I know that bed couldn't have been very comfortable for you," she whispered, her voice sounding like the auditory embodiment of sex and love. "I thought this might be nice."

"Very nice," he said, still attempting to mask his concerns about her wellbeing over the next few days.

"Stop worrying," she insisted, seeing through him.

He hadn't hidden his feelings well. "I can't help it."

"Maybe I could distract you," she offered, sinking down to her knees on the blankets next to him.

"Which movie?"

"I was thinking maybe you could read to me," she said, lying down behind him once he rolled onto his side. She spooned him and rested her chin on his shoulder.

He cleared his throat, remembering the somewhat steamy scene he'd been last working on. "Uhh…right now?"

"Yea," she said with a mischievous smile that rendered him unable to deny her.

He started to read, lacking his usual bravado, finding it difficult to decipher his own words through the cloud of longing that had filled his brain.

After only a few paragraphs, he felt her hand slide over his chest, fingers tracing his nipples and tracking unbroken shapes over his tee shirt. She tightened her arm around him, her lower torso and legs right against the backs of his, her foot eventually wiggling between his calves. Her touches took on a more massaging quality, and as much as he tried to convince himself this was an innocent interaction, his body knew better.

When her hand moved to his hip and slowly started venturing toward the front, he stopped reading and looked over his shoulder. Her hand brushed his cock, and he groaned from only that scant contact. Gathering his resolve, he took her hand and moved it higher on his torso, holding her palm against him. He didn't want her to pull away, but at the same time he knew where things were headed.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Nothing," she answered, endeavoring an innocence that he didn't buy.

"Beckett," he warned, ignoring her attempt at subterfuge as he set his computer down nearby and rolled to face her. "We agreed we were waiting until after your appointments for things to go further."

"Yea. But I thought maybe we could just…I dunno…fool around a little. I don't want to send you home all frustrated. Besides, I'm supposed to avoid stress too, and I feel pretty damn tense. So for our last night together…" anticipating his objection, she added, "…our last night _here_ together this weekend, I thought maybe we could help each other out. It's probably not what we really want, but it's something."

He shook his head and said, "You expect me to be the responsible one and say 'no' to all this? I'm pretty sure the role of 'responsible party' is usually yours."

"Reducing stress _is_ the responsible thing to do," she said, sitting on her knees after lifting his shirt that she wore to reveal nearly the entire length of her thighs.

How in the hell was he supposed to turn down the one woman he wanted most of all? He leaned back with his palms on the ground behind him, legs stretched out in front on the blankets on the floor so he could take in the vision before him. Every time he looked at her, he thought she looked more beautiful than she had the time before.

"Castle," she quietly persuaded, straddling his legs and finally settling on his lap. "Don't worry. I promise I'll be so careful. No fancy tricks, no intense cardio. We won't break the rules, not really."

"You're sure you're okay?" he asked, wondering about her motivations for suddenly moving things along more quickly.

"I'm fine. I just don't know what will happen. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, or what they'll find at my appointments."

"Wait, what do you mean? You don't feel well?"

"It's not that. Life is short, and things happen. Things we can't prepare for. And I don't want to count on having tomorrow when the only thing we know we have is tonight. I don't want to wait."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

She held his face in her palms and kissed him slowly and deeply, and he immediately shifted his weight to lean upon one hand so he could free up the other to touch her, coming to rest on the small of her back.

"Look, I'll be careful for now. And if the appointment goes okay, I'll screw you senseless Friday night. I just don't want to waste any more time. I want you. I want to be with you," she grinded her pelvis down on him and added, "Kinda feels like you want me too, Castle."

"Wanting you has never come into question," he vowed. "Never."

She tugged up the bottom of his tee shirt and pulled it off him, her hands bracing against his chest. And then she paused. Her hips stopped moving, her hands remained in their places, and she didn't kiss him. Kate stared, waiting for a response to her offer. Finally, appearing dejected, she said, "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

He grabbed her wrists when she tried to withdraw to keep her near, and he said, "You promise not to overdo it?"

"You have my word," she said, a smile of anticipation flickering before she nibbled her lip.

"If I give you what you want…you'll give me what I want?"

"I will definitely make sure you get what you want," she replied, her body pulsing over his and sending hot, tingling waves up his spine.

"I didn't mean that," he barely managed.

"Oh," she smirked, sensing incorrectly that he was playing a game. "What is it you want?"

"Come back home with me tomorrow."

"What?" she groaned.

"Please. You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to. I mean, I'd like you to, you're welcome to, but you don't have to. I could hire someone to keep an eye on your apartment if you don't want to stay with me. Your choice. I'll feel better if you're closer to your doctors, and your friends. I can check on you, I can be there, if you need me. Ryan and Esposito could be there."

"That's not necessary."

"It's not?" he said, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You just told me we should enjoy the moment because we don't know what tomorrow will bring. I know damn well what tomorrow _can_ bring. I've _seen_ what tomorrow can bring." His anger seemed to surprise her, and probably even surprised him, but he was allowing his feelings to show, no matter what they were. "You think I'd be satisfied with 'fooling around' with you tonight and then leaving you here alone where something could happen to you tomorrow? What if whoever shot you comes back to finish the job? What do you think would happen to me if I let something horrible happen to you? Especially something I could have prevented."

"I didn't know you felt that way," she said, her voice more sheepish than he was used to.

"I want to be with you…whatever that means for now," he whispered gently. "We both know how quickly everything can go wrong. All that I'm asking is that you take precautions to protect yourself from the worst outcomes. You trust your gut all of the time, and I think I should trust mine right now. I just have this feeling that I can't shake that something could happen. I know it's naïve of me to think that I can protect you. But at least let me try. Please."

"I'll think about it," she conceded.

"You'll let me know if anything we do hurts? You promise?" he demanded. He grasped her wrists and held them tightly against her own hips.

He could see the flush bloom across her face even in the fire-lit room. As much as Beckett enjoyed being in charge, she seemed to approve of his attempt at the upper hand.

His lips found her jawbone, and she instinctively gave him access. He could feel the grip of her hands on her thighs as he held them in place. He kissed so slowly, with feather weight, back her jaw, along the shell of her ear, down her gorgeous craning neck. Nudging his shirt from her shoulder with his scruffy chin, he paid equal attention before he worked his way one centimeter at a time back to her mouth.

The tip of his tongue tasted the center point in her upper lip before he kissed each of her lips with scant but slow precision. Her mouth opened in anticipation, tilting toward his to deepen the kiss, but he groaned heavily into her mouth, "Come back with me tomorrow."

His eyes met hers, and he saw the way his sincerity made her shudder. "I'll think about it," she insisted, this time breathlessly.

"Okay. Take all the time you need," he answered. But he tipped her head to expose the other side of her neck, and began the same veneration on that side, perhaps with even greater purpose. When he returned to her lips this time, he said only one word: "Please."

"Castle," she moaned, her hips moving and grinding down against his tented cotton pajamas. She managed to writhe enough to allow his cock to partially poke through the slat in his pants. When he felt her exposed skin against him, making him certain she wore nothing except the shirt, he inhaled sharply as his hold tightened on her.

Remembering the need for caution, his grasp locked on her hip and shoulder to keep her still. She griped disapprovingly, and he froze, his eyes heavy with the palpable desire that pulsed through them. Always aware of his love for her, he reminded, "Hey. You promised to take it easy."

"You're teasing," she argued.

"More like 'convincing'. Is it working?"

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head stubbornly, summoning more resistance than he thought he possessed to stand his ground.

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll come back. But only for a few days."

Castle fell into the layers of blankets, still pinning her hands against her thighs. The desire to grab onto her ass won over, and he finally let go of her fingers to allow himself to explore. She did almost the same, her hands grabbing his hips, fingers reaching onto his ass cheeks as they each pulled the other closer.

He didn't want to put his full weight on her because he worried it would hurt her wounds, nor did he want her on top of him, fearing that she would be too tempted to get caught up in the moment and over-exert herself, so he rolled them onto their sides as he fumbled for the buttons on her shirt. She grabbed the garment and clung to it like a lifeline, shaking her head. "Shirt stays on."

"Kate," he sighed, wanting her to know that scars couldn't possibly change how beautiful she was. If anything, he wanted not only to tell her, but to show her how perfect she still was. He was tempted to beg to have her topless, to see and feel her against him. But the tension in her body made her concerns obvious, and he knew too well how much this was still affecting her. She was still so hurt, and he could hardly take it. So he accepted her limits, nodded, and said, "Only when you're ready."

He slid down, kissing the lower part of her belly near her hips and continuing his descent. He could smell her desire, as he practically shook with the need to taste her and savor her in a new way. Just as he moved far enough to allow his tongue to dabble against the wetness that seeped from her cleft, she pulled away.

Immediately he suspected revenge for his earlier teasing, but she quickly moved so they were lying head to toe, settling down in front of him with her gorgeously enticing pussy just in front of his face. Although he couldn't see her, he felt her breath skimming across the exposed part of his sex. Simply knowing that her lips, _Beckett's lips_ , were so close to his cock made his balls tighten, but not nearly as much as when she parted her thighs, bracing one of her feet on the furniture behind him.

She was open before him, glistening and wanting, and he needed no further invitation. He approached, ready to hear whatever sound she would make when he finally got to taste her, suck her clit, and he froze when he felt her hands grasp his manhood with determined tightness. He thrusted into her fist as ordered by innate drives more powerful than any resistance.

At first she pulled his member further through the opening in his pants, but that quickly frustrated her. Quite impatiently, she tugged at the elastic waist of his pajamas. He lifted off the ground to let her slide his clothes down off his hips, and then he frantically kicked them off the remainder of the way.

He couldn't see what she was doing, he could only feel it, noting the exploration of her lips, and hot trails blazed by her tongue that left cool, wet paths in its wake. He rested his cheek on the thigh of her lower leg, soaking in the closeness, trying to brand this into his memory. She began making a noise, nearly a whimper, and he realized she thought he was still teasing her, withholding contact to make her crazy when in reality he was just stunned, basking in a moment he'd craved. He finally touched her with two fingers, one other either side of her sex, and he pressed enough to part her more fully. He blew softly on her clit, seeing the way her intimate place pulsed with yearning.

As he began his explorations, he felt her tongue tapping his glans, her lips, soft and full, occasionally surrounding him and sucking gently before letting him fall from her mouth with a pop. Her fingernails scraped over his hip, her hand finally settling there and pulling him forward. Without holding his cock, her hands encouraged him to rock forward, her mouth meeting him with each forward motion and creating sensations that skittered through him.

He'd desired her for years, had fought his urges day-in and day-out, but the need to flip her around and drive himself right into her was almost impossible to stop. Instead he decided to employ the same tease, using his hands to bring her forward and give quick and intense touches followed by the absence of contact with each withdraw. Beckett was Beckett, though, powerful and decisive through and through, so she wrapped her leg around his head and held him between her thighs. He remembered telling her once, ages ago, how good she was at bossing men around. He _still_ loved that about her.

His hand moved up her back, going progressively to her shoulders to encourage her toward him without forcing. Silently he wondered if she'd think less of him if he begged the way he wanted to. Almost as if she could hear his thoughts, she practically swallowed him in the next second, sliding her lips along his shaft. It seemed the time for teasing him had passed.

He'd never felt anything like it, such intense pleasure mixed with need and adoration that had gone so long unrequited. And even though she was busily working him over, she never lost sight of her own wants, her thighs tightening around his ears. He mirrored the pace she set on his dick as his tongue danced over her clit, perfectly matching her so their bodies were clear this was one act shared by two people.

As reserved as she could be in so many situations, her reservations wilted as she became more wanton, swept up with need. Her vocalizations killed him, that sultry, raspy voice hitting his ears as the vibrations amplified her touch. He felt his hips jerk, goddamn he was escalating too quickly, desperate to climax, and she backed off. For that he was both thankful and disappointed.

Her touches became loving, gentle, exploratory, and again he let her lead, taking her cues. He lapped up her wetness, loving how soaked she was with him, _for_ him. He traced her inner folds, carefully tugged her clit between his lips as his tongue lashed against it a few times before letting go and beginning again. He took her hips and tilted her toward him, his tongue shallowly fucking her as she purred over his cockhead, taking him at similarly shallow depths. His chin pressed against her, hitting the bundle of nerves that once again made her cry out.

He had to be further in her, so his fingers displaced his tongue, two of them thrusting into her core and feeling the strength of her pulse. He found that perfect spot at the front inside her, rubbing that with the pads of his fingers each time he pushed inside, which made her breath and movements more ragged and unsteady.

His desire to be inside her, face-to-face and as deep as he could possibly go, filled his head and chest. Instead he accepted this somewhat delectable fate, and rolled onto his back so he could have better access. Her knees rested on either side of his head, that dripping sex above him. His free hand covered her ass, pushing her pussy against his face while he began a long, slow finger fuck. This time, _she_ followed _him_ , sucking on his cock at the pace he chose to move inside her. And it was almost like they were actually screwing. Those years of silent communication and collaboration, along with so much longing and delayed gratification, made them all the better at this. It felt good, _so good,_ and at the same time made him want more, to imagine what it would be like to be inside her as far as their bodies would allow, to release his passion deeply within her.

Beckett emitted the sexiest, most desirous moan ever created, and he felt her insides cling to his fingers as his mouth never paused, lavishing attention. Her hand tightened around his base, her other hand cradling his sac, and when he realized she was coming, he lacked the ability to hold back or warn her that his end was slamming into him.

While her hips were rocking against him, she swallowed him up, the tip of him hitting the back of her throat. Her sex cleaved to him, holding him within. The unstoppable swell carried him as he emptied into her, and she never pulled away, never stopped.

He was addicted, entirely, to the taste of her, the feeling of her splayed open before him, no longer holding him at bay. He licked so softly, caressing with such gentleness as he let her coast gradually down, determined to lap up every last drop she offered. Her body rested entirely on him without resistance as he continued to revere her form. She kept him in her mouth as well, neither wanting this to be over just yet.

His tongue took a broad yet patient sweep over her when it seemed she was more receptive to touch again. Like gently nudging something delicately balanced, she easily tipped over the edge again. The aftershock became a quake of its own, striking hard and fast and powerfully as she held on so tightly it would probably leave marks. Not that he cared. Her thighs clamped down on his head, covering his ears so he couldn't hear a damn thing, but he could feel her elation from the vibrations where her ribs rested on his stomach.

She pulled away when she needed to, senses overloaded. Turning so their bodies were in the same direction, she cuddled next to him, still panting and sighing, and he soaked up every noise just like he'd savored every drop of her. His arm surrounded her, and he couldn't imagine any force in the universe strong enough to make him want to let go. He held her, encircled her thinner form, his hands rubbing the shirt that she still wore. He thought of trying to convince her to finally shed it, because he wanted his fingers on her skin on the caps of her shoulders and down her back.

In truth, he really wasn't certain the night's activities qualified as "taking it easy." Everything that had happened sure had his heart pounding. He knew he probably wouldn't sleep, feeling the need to monitor her pulse and breathing to make sure she was okay. The guilt that he hadn't felt while caught up in the shroud of love and lust reemerged as rational thought returned. Yea, he was going to have to stay up and keep an eye on her just to be sure.

"Sorry, Castle," she whispered.

"Sorry? For what?" he scoffed.

"I'm sorry if you're disappointed or—"

"W-w—wait. Disappointed?" he interrupted.

"I got impatient. It felt like we waited _forever_ , and I didn't want to wait any longer. Probably not how you imagined our first time."

"I'm a big fan of impatient Beckett," he grinned. Then he added resolutely, "I'm amazed by you, always. I have no regrets, as long as you're okay."

"I'm fine," she dismissively replied.

"I'm serious…feel faint or any pain? Or—"

"I'm fine. Really. I promise. It's been months since I was shot…I really am okay."

"Well, I was impatient, too," he confessed. "Just to be sure, let's cool this off just a little while longer, until after your appointments."

"Sure," she replied, smirking in a way that made him relatively certain she was not going to be that patient. Her open desire made her that much hotter. "That was incredible, really amazing. But the moment I get the 'all-clear', we're going to the nearest room with a lock, and I'm going to hold you down and ride you so damn hard you won't know what hit you."

He choked out his words. "I can't wait."

Her suggestion piqued his interest, and his body stirred against her thigh.

"Oh," she remarked, teasing proudly, eyes glancing downward. "You like when I say stuff like that?"

His eyebrows waggled. "I _love_ it when you say stuff like that."

Her fingers walked down his body, and he grew harder and longer with each step.

She questioned, "Or is it the thought of me on top of you that turns you on?"

"On top. Beneath. Beside…" His words turned to groans as she wrapped around him one finger at a time.

He began to move his hand toward her thighs, but she stopped him. "Just relax," she said, her tongue pressing up against the back of her teeth on the last letter, creating a sultry slight-lisping sound that had always stirred him over the years.

Firmly holding her face, he brought her lips to his and kissed her with the weight of years of longing. Clinging to brain function for a moment longer, he nudged her nose with his and whispered, "Didn't we just agree to hold off until after your appointments?"

"Yes," she nodded. The rebel behind the rule-following badge was a force to be reckoned with as well.

"Thank you," he sincerely declared.

She smiled coyly, gripping his sex a bit more firmly. "For what? Haven't really even gotten started yet."

"Not for that," he corrected. "Well…obviously for that. But…I meant for agreeing to come back with me tomorrow."

On one hand, his appreciation was sincere, and on the other, he wanted to remind her that she had agreed to that (even if it had been in the heat of the moment). He wasn't sure he was physically capable of leaving her up there alone in the morning, not when something in him warned him that it was too dangerous.

When she didn't respond immediately, he suspected she was going to try to back out of the arrangement. He kept their gazes locked, urging a response. "Kate?" he finally asked.

"You're welcome," she weakly answered, also seemingly a bit dazed by their connection. He very nearly boasted his success, because at least she acknowledged the agreement had been made, but he accepted his victory quietly. He hadn't anticipated the words she spoke next. "Thank you, Castle. For being here for me these last few weeks. And...for pushing me to come back with you tomorrow. I don't really want to leave, but I know…you're doing it because you've got my back. I do appreciate that."

He wondered if the words 'I love you' would ever escape her lips. It took every ounce of willpower not to say those words to her again, and again, and again, but he wasn't sure he could take the pain of speaking the words and finding only silence in response. They'd come so far together, and he still feared pushing her and causing her to pull back. Instead he sat up, lifting her and placing her in his lap, guiding her legs around him. She smiled at him, broadly, her eyes dancing happily.

"You truly are remarkable," he noted.

"You're pretty remarkable yourself, Castle," she answered sweetly before her lips returned to his.


	8. The Conspiracy: Chapter 5 (Post S3AU)

**A/N-Quick Recap since I've let this one go too long… I am going to finish this short story up soon. This is the one where Kate calls Castle after she's shot while she's recovering in a cabin. She's still recuperating while battling PTSD and concerns about her upcoming follow-ups with her cardiologist and surgeon, but their relationship has intensified and Castle's there for her. He has convinced her to come back to NYC and stay at his apartment.**

 **Again, I apologize for the wait.**

* * *

 **Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 5**

Castle managed to stay up and monitor Beckett's condition until after 4AM. Things that had made sense in the heat of the moment now felt foolish and dangerous, and he couldn't stop watching her to make sure she was okay. He'd wanted her so badly, wanted them to surrender to their passions, but then he sat in the quiet of night with his guilt as he'd allowed those desires to win out. He felt he should have been the responsible one this time, for some reason, and that he'd failed her.

As hard as he fought, exhaustion finally consumed him, and he fell asleep beside her.

* * *

Kate heard something, something far away but at the same time near and familiar. It was Castle, his voice nearing a state of panic, and she suddenly was certain she was approaching death's door once again. Her mind struggled to reconcile what was happening. _Had she just been shot?_ As memories of recent days at the cabin emerged, she knew she'd survived that shooting. _Perhaps the sniper had returned to finish the job, and she'd been shot again?_ Maybe one of those rare complications she'd been warned about had arisen, and in spite of the many times she'd fought and survived, her own body might take her out.

In any event, Castle sounded terrified and sorrowful, and that filled her with a sense of dread.

She heard his nervousness escalate until he was yelling into the phone. Words like _hospital, heart attack, blood clot_ swirled around. She wanted to ease his worry, tell him everything would be okay, but she couldn't…or could she? Was anything truly stopping her from waking up?

Her eyes fluttered open and she saw him kneeling beside her, eyes pinched shut, holding her hand and whispering, "Hold on, Kate. Help is coming. Don't you leave me, please, Kate," like an ardent prayer. His next words were less soft and soothing, as he yelled angrily, "I'll pay for a damn helicopter. Get here now, something's not right and—"

"Castle?" Kate questioned, realizing that she wasn't in some near-dead state, and she could speak and move.

He whipped his head to look at her, asking, "Kate?" through his apparent anguish.

"Who's on the phone?"

"Hospital…I thought you…you…are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she assured. "So tell the operator there's no emergency before they send out Search and Rescue."

"Are you completely certain you're okay?"

She extracted the phone from his hand. Kate identified herself to the operator, explaining that she'd been sleeping, she was fine, her companion had simply overreacted. She hung up and in a second, his arms were around her, holding her like she had risen from the great beyond.

"What is going on?" she asked, perplexed by the extent and direction of his response.

"Something was really wrong. I was sure you were having a heart attack or—"

"Castle, I feel fine. What makes you think I was having a heart attack?"

"I tried to stay awake," he insisted remorsefully, "but I dozed off. When I woke up, you were groaning, holding your left arm…I've heard sometimes the only symptom of a heart attack is shoulder pain."

"Castle, my body's still healing, that's all. I'm fine. There was no heart attack. Nothing was wrong."

"You didn't wake up."

"Yea, well, you wore me out last night. I was tired. Really tired."

"It was more than that. A near death experience. Did you see a light? Loved ones?"

"You believe in near death experiences, too? Of course you do," she scoffed.

"What did you see?"

"I saw a guy, you…completely overreacting," she impishly teased. "There was no near death experience. No tunnels or lights or floating above my body. I promise."

Feeling a little bad for the scare he'd had, she reached up and held his cheek. "I really am fine." His eyes stayed down, he still looked so concerned. "Maybe you felt a little guilty about what happened last night? You were afraid we crossed lines. That something bad might happen because we weren't careful. Everything's fine…but even if it wasn't…it would not be your fault. I instigated everything. It was my choice."

"You completely bewitched me, had me under your seductive spell. I was powerless to resist," he teased, but he still looked so worried. He took her hand in his and gently kissed her fingers. "But if something happened, that wouldn't make me feel any better. Are you sure, absolutely sure, you're okay?"

"Yes," she assured.

"You think I'm crazy," he sullenly replied.

"No. I think you're sweet," she more soberly responded. "I confess…for a few seconds while I was waking up, I wasn't sure if something really had happened. And it made me realize how risky last night was. I'm sorry I scared you. We'll keep things PG-rated. You can't sit up monitoring me for the next three nights."

"But you're still coming back with me today? Right?"

His eyes were so sad, so concerned, that she felt it through her chest.

"It really was hard for you…when I was shot. Going through all that."

"Worst day of my life," he nodded. "When I thought I lost you."

"I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault. But if you truly want to make me feel better, you'll come back with me, stay as my guest in my apartment, at least until we get you checked out."

"If we're trying to cool things off, being in the same apartment might not help."

"I am extraordinarily hard to resist."

* * *

She agreed to stay at his place, but in the guest room. After his lack of sleep and a night of intense concern about her health, they both made promises to table their physical interactions for the time being. At the same time, they worried that with everything going on, they weren't ready to navigate the details of their romantic relationship with anyone else. Hell, they weren't even exactly certain what, if any, labels applied just yet or where things were headed.

Secrecy was for the best, he had to admit. He already imagined his mother's enthusiasm for a relationship between the pair, and wondered how Alexis would take the news. It was too much to deal with when there were more urgent issues.

For the moment, Kate would be with him, safely stowed in his apartment instead of a lengthy drive away. Before they left, he clandestinely sent an email to the private security company he'd researched and hired. A professional swept his building earlier in the day for security concerns. There would be a guard outside of the apartment, and one in the lobby round the clock. He also hired people to keep eyes on Alexis and Martha, just in case. He couldn't risk any of them, couldn't bear such loss. He kept that tidbit of information from Beckett, however.

He'd made the drive back and forth from the city to the cabin and back several times in the last few weeks, but this time, she was with him. (And, for once, she actually didn't snatch the keys and insist on driving). He reached over at one point, hooked his finger under hers and brought her hand toward the center console. She didn't resist the touch, in fact she almost immediately laced her fingers through his. "Thank you for humoring me and coming back," he stated with heartfelt gratitude. She didn't reply, but allowed the interlocking of their fingers to deepen.

The pair had spent immeasurable hours side by side, in cars, at the precinct, walking down the street, having dinner after a long day, and in some ways, this ride was no different. In other ways, everything had changed. Although she was silent, withdrawn from the world at large, she didn't feel removed from him. He noticed the way she gently rubbed his finger with her thumb. She was letting him in, letting her guard drop. There had been a fear in him that once they left the cabin she'd pull away, but so far, things were going well.

He felt the tension in her bloom as the traffic thickened and buildings rose along the horizon, signaling they were almost home.

* * *

Kate felt strange walking back into Castle's apartment again. It seemed like she'd been gone for centuries. Martha was immediately before her, approaching like a red-tendrilled, tornadic welcome wagon, complimenting and fawning and instantly wrapping Kate in a hug that was entirely overwhelming. Castle tried to rein in Martha's enthusiasm, warning his mother that Kate was still healing, but there was no doubt that Martha was excited her son's partner was back in town.

Kate wondered if Martha really was looking them over suspiciously, or if it was only her imagination.

Castle carried Beckett's bag up the steps for her even as she protested the assistance. He placed her things on the bed, headed toward the door, and paused there. "I'm glad you're here," he commented as he leaned against the jamb.

"Thanks," she chuckled softly.

"I'm sorry about Mother. I'll talk to her—"

"It's okay. She's sweet."

"If you need to talk…or—"

"There is something I need," she said, trying desperately to change the subject. She couldn't handle a discussion about her feelings or worries right now. It felt like the whole world was pressing down against her now that she was back, and she had so much to lose.

She approached and looked out in the hallway to make sure Martha wasn't there. When she confirmed the hall was clear, she grabbed Castle's shirt and pulled him into the room behind the door. Her lips crashed to his, her fingers hooking his belt loops and dragging him toward her as she braced her back against the wall.

Kate was far more prepared to deal with those types of feelings for the time being. Castle put up a good, strong attempt to keep things cool…for about 4 seconds. Then his hands were on her, one firmly holding her face to deepen the kiss, one sliding down her back. As soon as she whispered a moan, he was lost in her. A sound from down in the kitchen made them pause. His forehead on hers, she saw that fiery, hot look in his eyes, the playfulness gone and replaced by carnal desire. He shook his head, "Is this your idea of cooling things off?"

"I'll be good, I told you. It was just a kiss. I'm not allowed to kiss you?" her voice had that balance of innocence and seduction.

He shook his head, like he could clear the arousal from his etch-a-sketch brain.

"What?" she giggled.

"You're not going to make this easy for me."

"Of course not. When have you ever wanted it easy?" she teased.

He chuckled, but more serious matters came to the forefront. "I just can't believe this is happening. For a little while…I dunno."

"What?" she insisted.

"I thought you might not come back. Thought maybe you were gone forever."

"You and me…we have ups and downs, but…we always seem to find our way back."

They heard Alexis come home, and Kate patted his chest. "Go see her. I'll be down in a minute."

"Sure," he eagerly grinned. "Get settled, just make yourself at home. If you need anything, just let me know."

Kate could sense how much joy it seemed to give him that they were all in his apartment, and it was rather sweet that he wanted her there, that he felt like she belonged as close as family. She looked through her bag, got out a change of clothing for later after a nice, hot shower, but she wasn't ready to unpack. She shoved her bag in the closet, still packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. She wasn't entirely sure why she felt it was necessary. She didn't have any regrets about Castle, or about where things might be heading with him, but she was already prepared to make fight-or-flight decisions. She knew perfectly well she was going to have to discuss it with her shrink, Dr. Miura, but it made her feel safer knowing she could be on the run in moments.

Pausing in the bathroom to wash up before joining everyone else, Kate heard the discussion downstairs, a family catching up after a few days apart. Those sounds were foreign to her, so different from her quiet little apartment. When she finally went downstairs, Martha seemed so excited that it was as if she hadn't seen her a few moments ago when they'd first arrived.

Alexis, on the other hand, was not as enthusiastic. She welcomed Kate politely, and the two shared all the necessary pleasantries. The teen wasn't really _un_ welcoming, but there was something that didn't feel quite right. After all, Alexis had once seemed to admire the detective, tried even to impress her. Now there was evidence of a chill.

Still the family sat around the table for dinner, and even if Kate hadn't wanted to, she would have had fun. Martha had a knack for storytelling (Kate wondered if that fed young "Ricky" as a budding writer, and Alexis and Martha had plenty of humorous stories about Castle that they were eager to share.

As dinner slowed but the conversation did not, Kate felt Castle's lower leg move under hers, his hand eventually finding its way to the edge of her chair. It wasn't seductive, it was caring, simply an attempt to be nearer to her. As casually as possible, she dropped her hand on the chair as well, as if she were bracing her weight.

He seemed pleased that she moved there, her hand by his, and he took it, secretively holding her beneath the table cloth. Their legs pressed only slightly, but it felt so good, so reassuring that although they were keeping things quiet, the flame was still flickering between them, and he, too, seemed to have no regrets.

Kate's phone rang as "dinner" was nearing its third hour. Her side was sore, but for such a pleasant reason: laughter. "It's my doctor. I need to take this."

"Use my office, if you'd like," Castle offered, a twinkle in his eye practically announced his amorous feelings, and she thought she felt his eyes follow her as she left. Kate was certain Martha had not failed to notice the tension smoldering between the partners.

Beckett retreated to the office, confirmed the appointment, and listened as the physician's assistant discussed upcoming tests and requirements. All routine. And terrifying. She wished she could just dive in and get the tests over and done with so she could move on.

After just a few moments, she went to rejoin the others, and heard Alexis speaking rather unhappily. Kate couldn't understand every word, but she heard Alexis clearly say, "I'm worried. I don't want you to get hurt, Dad."

It saddened Kate as she listened, but she knew she'd feel the same if her father were running around with someone like her, someone who could put him in harm's way. That part she understood.

When they realized Kate had returned, Alexis excused herself and went to her room. Castle took Kate back to the office, set up a movie and said, "My couch is far too comfy to thoroughly reenact our cabin memories, but I thought we could curl up here, unwind with a movie or two. Your turn to choose."

"You know what, Castle, I'm not feeling so hot. Not sick, I'm just really tired. Is it okay if I head up to bed?"

"Are you sure?" he asked. He stepped into her personal space and offered in his hushed tone, "Maybe you could wait an hour…come down and check on me, hang out in my room for a little while, go back to your room before morning. No one's the wiser."

"I think sneaking into your room tonight is probably not the best way to keep us both on good behavior," she tried to joke, in spite of her underlying sadness. "Besides, you were up really late last night, and I know you could use some sleep. It's best if we both go to our own beds and rest for now. Don't you think?"

"Sure," he nodded. "We can talk tomorrow."

* * *

Sleep didn't come for Kate, though. She fretted and worried, and couldn't stop hearing Alexis' words. Kate's concerns that she was a danger to those she cared for intensified. She wondered if she should grab her bag and leave during the night to protect them. She knew if she did that, Castle would be safe, but quite hurt.

Unable to sleep, she decided to go downstairs to make some tea and try to calm her racing thoughts.

After a few moments in the kitchen, she heard someone on the stairs, and found Alexis watching her.

"Sorry. Did I wake you?" Kate asked.

"I thought you were my Dad. I wanted to talk to him. I guess I'll wait until morning."

Alexis turned and began to ascend the stairs, and Kate asked, "Want a cup of tea? I know it's not the same as your dad, but you can talk to me if you want."

The teen took some time to consider, and without a verbal answer came down the stairs. The silence was awkward, and the few words that were spoken were even more uncomfortable. As if ripping off the figurative band aid, Kate abruptly said, "Look, Alexis, I heard what you said. And you are right, being around me is dangerous. I'm pretty close with my Dad, so I understand a little. If he was out with someone who got into these kinds of situations, someone always leading him towards danger instead of away from it, I'd be concerned, too. I know you're just trying to protect your Dad…you don't want him to get hurt or killed. Trust me, the last thing I want is for anything bad to happen to him."

"You think I'm trying to protect him from getting shot?"

"That sniper could have hit him…or you, or your grandmother. Not only did I risk his life, but yours as well. I really wish that wasn't the case. I'm putting you all in danger."

"I've had a few years now to accept my Dad's interest in all this…in cases and police work and Nikki and, well, you…I've gotten used to the fact that there's a certain amount of danger in his life every day."

"Does anyone ever really get used that?"

"It's a risk. A calculated one, but a risk just as much. But I'm not naïve, Detective Beckett. I could get shot at school, or mugged on the street. He could get caught in the middle of a road rage incident, flirting with the wrong woman, or just end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I accept these things. I am afraid of my Dad getting hurt. But snipers and murderers aren't my biggest concern."

"Then what is?"

"You," Alexis chuckled disappointedly. "You really don't see it? You mean so much to him. I've never seen him this way…spending so much time and effort on a woman he clearly will never have a chance with because she's too clueless or maybe just too stubborn to realize what she could have. I know he can be immature, and kind of ridiculous. But he's so much more than that. He's caring and loyal. He'd do anything for the people he loves, absolutely anything. You just don't seem to notice the obvious truth."

"You're afraid _I'll_ hurt him?" Kate replied, stunned.

"Yes. I don't want to see him get his heart broken."

"I don't want to hurt him. Not now, not ever," Kate insisted. "The opposite."

"If you have feelings for him, feelings that you're willing to accept, then great. If not, you need to let him go, let him move on with his life. I just need to know that you aren't toying with his emotions, stringing him along. He's a good man."

"I know that. Believe me, I do. Look...I don't have all of the answers, but what I can tell you, what I can _promise_ you, is that I know the kind of man he is. He's been there for me like no one else has ever been. I hope he feels like he can count on me, too. And you have my word...I don't want to cause him any pain."

"I guess that's enough. For now."

"But I'm still waiting for my test results, I'm still trying to get better in a lot of ways. I don't want him to feel like he's obligated to take care of me while I get back on my feet."

"When it comes to people we care about, being there for them during the bad times is just part of the deal. If something happened to him, would you be there for him?"

"Of course."

"Exactly. True friends...family...are there through good and bad. I don't think he would see it any other way."

Alexis seemed momentarily satisfied, and in some ways Kate felt a wave of relief knowing why the girl had appeared so hesitant with her. On the other hand, the conversation made Kate all the more aware of how emotionally invested Castle probably already was, and that carried a weight all its own.

The tea kettle whistled as Kate said, "Just the same, maybe we should all consider some safety precautions for you and Martha."

"Dad took care of that. He has security on all of us right now anyway, some ex-Special Forces guys," Alexis flippantly replied, "same ones he hired to look after you."

"After me?"

Alexis winced, realizing that probably wasn't common knowledge. "Even you admitted things are dangerous. After what happened, don't be too mad at him for trying to protect you."

"Yea," Beckett absently responded.

* * *

Castle woke during the night with a sickening feeling. He worried that Kate would pull away, he worried that Alexis was still annoyed with him, and he had no idea what sort of fallout awaited him in the morning.

He grabbed his robe and went to the living room, and thought he heard voices from his office. Perhaps Kate had decided to come downstairs and watch a movie after all. But as he followed the sounds, he realized it was Kate and Alexis speaking, and felt a pang of worry about their conversation.

The last thing he expected to hear was laughter.

Kate and Alexis were hovering over old photo albums and Alexis had her computer open to display some home movies.

As he quietly watched the two, he saw Kate, face full of laughter, "That…is your father?"

Alexis bobbed her head 'yes' as she snickered.

Kate had one of the family's blankets draped over her shoulders, and Alexis was wrapped in her robe, quite a cozy domestic scene. Beside the computer, he saw bowls that must have contained snacks at one point, and a kettle of tea between two mugs. This secret meeting must have been going on for some time. His heart thudded with happiness as he observed.

"What's going on out here, you two?" he asked.

Beckett turned and chuckled, "I can't believe that was you."

"What was me?"

"We were just looking through old pictures and stuff, Dad," Alexis explained. "Some things are better seen than explained."

"My daughter, up in the middle of the night, _not_ studying?" he considered. Pointing, he accused, "I don't buy it. Who are you and what have you done with Alexis?"

"Oh, it is late," she said, standing, gathering a few dishes and saying, "I need to get to bed."

"I'll get those," Castle offered, nodding toward the dishes.

"'Night, Daddy," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "G'night, Detective Beckett. Thanks for the talk."

"That seemed fun. What happened?" he asked Kate once Alexis was gone and he took the vacated spot on the sofa.

"Girl talk," Kate replied.

"Something certainly changed."

"I thought she was afraid for your safety…worried that you'd be shot. And she is, a bit. But there's more to it, something else that was bothering her. I was really starting to think I should back away...to protect you."

"You still feel that way?" he asked, swallowing bile.

"A little, maybe, but I'm not going anywhere. Alexis helped me see a few things. She loves her father. I guess…" the pause felt eternal while Beckett considered her words, "...I guess she just needed to know that I do, too."

"That you…" he nodded and waited, clearly hoping Kate would elaborate. He was fairly certain that was as close to a confession of love that he'd ever gotten from her.

"She was afraid I was leading you on…stringing you along, scared I'd break your heart."

"And you convinced her otherwise?"

Kate nodded, staring into his eyes. "I didn't get into specifics, but she probably knows how I feel about you. I'm sorry. I know we're trying to keep things quiet."

"Of course… I'm not upset. She can be very persistent. It's just…"

"Just?"

"Well... I'm not even sure _I_ know how you feel about me," he commented, leaning closer, silently urging a response.

He didn't want to force the words, but still so desperately wanted to hear her say she loved him.

"You know how I feel," she nodded, looking out of the office to be sure they weren't being watched. She kissed him so softly, so tenderly, not attempting to arouse anything but his heart. "You _know..._ how I feel," she insisted.

He sighed, happily although still longingly, nodding his head. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Hmm?" she queried, awaiting the request.

"Don't ever assume things would be safer or better for me if you're gone. If we're going to pursue the personal side of our partnership, we need to _be_ partners, jump into life, into figuring things out _together_."

She smiled, not quite the adamant profession of assent that he wanted, but a tacit agreement.

Flipping the album open and tapping a page, she said, "Tell me about this one."

He grinned and fawned at the photo, "My baby's first Halloween!"

Kate drifted off while leaning on him as he thumbed through the old photos and shared stories. He loved how natural and familiar it was beginning to feel to have her falling asleep against him.

He pulled the blanket around them, convinced he'd wake before Martha caught them like that in the morning.


	9. The Conspiracy: Chapter 6 (Post S3AU)

**Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 6**

* * *

The next few days went by somewhat quickly. Kate helped Castle as he further outlined some story ideas, and spent evenings cooking and sharing dinners. Kate experienced firsthand the interesting event that was Martha working with acting students, and Alexis going through the cycles of school, homelife, and homework. Beckett had never really taken much time to imagine herself having a life like this, a family. Maybe she'd begun to think it was impossible, maybe she hadn't wanted it in the first place, or perhaps she just never imagined she'd find herself in such a position. It was fun, playacting, imagining a world with a family and togetherness, a devoted man by her side. It unnerved her how easily she could get used to this.

Having Martha and Alexis around certainly cooled off their amorous sides a bit, at least on the surface. In some ways Kate was grateful for the distraction and the excuse for celibacy, and in other ways, she wanted to grab his keys, drive the pair of them to her apartment, and show him a few days neither of them would be likely to forget. She relished those nuanced moments of contact, the late night cuddles on sofas and surreptitious touches, like they were having their own secret love affair, forbidden but too wonderful to forego.

Before she even settled in fully, the nights and days cycled until Thursday had nearly arrived, the day of her first appointment with the surgeon. In the morning she was scheduled for a battery of tests, and later the consultation with the surgeon. The following day she'd see the cardiologist who would review her overall heart health. In some ways, that second appointment scared her most of all as she wondered what, if any, restrictions she'd have to carry with her for the rest of her life.

Castle was exceptionally mellow and tender that morning, a fact that she was entirely grateful for. They had a quick breakfast, and he insisted on driving her to her appointment, although she didn't even consider truly attempting a protest. It wasn't so much because she couldn't go on her own, but because she wanted him by her side.

He waited in the waiting room while the physician's assistant and an intern checked the healing of her surgical scars as well as the bullet wound. Tests were conducted to measure the strength and health of her heart, the results of which she wouldn't have until the following day. Simply performing some of the tests made her realize how much progress she'd made since the last round of tests shortly after her surgery. No matter what the tests said, she definitely felt stronger.

When she returned from the tests and initial physical exam, Castle accompanied her down the hall to the surgeon's office and waited. Sometimes her partner was so good at being strong and silent, simply present. When she'd first met him, she never imagined he could be such fantastic support. And that was exactly what she needed. She didn't want to talk about things, or be distracted. She didn't need anyone fussing over her. She just wanted him at her side, reminding her with his presence alone that he was indeed there for her, that she didn't have to fight whatever may come alone.

She made a mental note to tell him how much she appreciated it later, after she finally had some answers. It was infuriating that her own body might be hiding bad news from her, and she needed medical professionals to decode its workings and share them with her.

As they sat in the sterile waiting room for quite a long time, they saw patients of all ages and conditions around them. She swore it was the least he'd ever spoken. Finally, he leaned over, and she expected a joke or something to diffuse the situation. Apparently knowing that no quip could amuse her, he didn't try any such thing. "I could go back with you…if you want. Or stay." She didn't answer, so he started to ramble, "I completely understand if you don't want me back there…it's kind of personal, the doctor's office. I just don't want you to feel alone. Unless you want to be alone, which is fine. I get that you may want—"

"Thanks, Castle," she interrupted, stopping his awkward dialogue. "It's nice of you to offer, but I can handle this on my own."

"Sure," he nodded, displaying forced cool and bravado like it didn't matter to him either way.

Of course it did.

The surgeon was running behind, and they'd already been waiting almost an hour. Kate was pretty certain some of the other doctors and nurses there recognized her because of her association with Josh. This was the office he worked out of when he was in town. Although he was overseas, she suspected some of them remembered her from the stories, the brave doctor whose cop girlfriend had been shot and he found her on his table. Of course the "happily ever after" ending to that story was missing since Kate broke up with him, and he went back to saving lives all over the world.

A doctor with full, dark hair walked through, his back to the waiting room, and Kate felt Castle tense next to her. They both wondered if Josh might be back in town. When the man turned, he clearly wasn't Josh, but Kate knew it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for him to show up. She leaned over to Castle, "If you want to leave, it's okay. I'll be fine."

"Not a chance," he said with a sympathetic smile. "I'll wait right here until you're done."

When they called her name, she stood, filled with determination and bravery, and began walking toward the waiting intern. She took several long steps, hearing Castle state, "Good luck," as she left. She paused and went back to him.

"If the offer is still on the table…do you want to come back with me?"

He grinned, like a kid getting picked first for a school yard game, nodding and hopping up, draping his jacket over his arm and saying, "That offer is always on the table."

If the doctor had bad news to give, she'd have support, and she wouldn't have to find a way to tell Castle later since he'd hear it firsthand.

Back in the surgeon's private office, they waited yet again, models of hearts on shelves and diagrams on the walls. Castle was next to her on what was either a tiny bench or a wide chair. They were tightly packed in the spot, but she felt no impetus to leave the shared space.

The flurry of movement from waiting room to office that made them feel like they were making such progress halted abruptly after the assistant asked a few questions, tapped information into the computer, and then they were left again to wait.

For days.

Actually it was only twenty-two minutes, but it felt like days.

As prepared as she'd been for the absolute worst, to hear that she had months to live or would never run again or wouldn't be fit to be a cop, the surgeon delivered only good news. He reviewed the paperwork and photos, and the incisions looked good, and she could swim or take baths again. She seemed to be healing well. The surgeon wanted the cardiologist to review the ECG and stress tests, but from his perspective, Kate was released from care.

The surgeon stood, extending a hand to shake hers, and she kept waiting for the bad news or painful blow that surely would follow. Ironically, the good news slammed her. She rose, shaking his hand and thanking him, agreeing when he said she was a very fortunate woman. Not many people survived a shot in the heart by a trained sniper.

In Castle's car, he assured, "Only one more appointment to go. And tomorrow, when the cardiologist tells us you're fine, and everything is okay, this waiting and worrying can finally be over. And then...we're going to give that heart the workout it really needs." He raised his eyebrows, then seemed to pause cautiously. "That is, obviously, if you still want to. No pressure if—"

"Oh my god, Castle, I can't wait. I really can't wait. I just hope…I hope it isn't bad news. I want the chance to be with you…without scaring you so much you have to sit awake all night in case I die."

* * *

He took her to a nice hotel, so nice that calling it a 5-star hotel seemed insufficient. He brought her inside with the bag she'd packed and made the arrangements at the desk.

Of course she was certain he would stay. She'd been convinced of that all along. And maybe they could get back to pushing the edges of the envelope a little…maybe a little hanky-panky wouldn't be the worst thing. After all, even if Castle worried, the appointment with the cardiologist was the following morning. She told herself a thousand excuses, but deep down part of her feared they'd tell her she was ruined, and she wasn't ready to hear that.

They went to the room very near the top floor, and found a woman waiting outside the door. She introduced herself, Amanda, a certified massage therapist with a specialty in helping people post-operatively. Once inside the room, the massage therapist began to set up, and Castle took Kate's elbows in his hands. "See you tomorrow. Order room service, anything you want. My way of congratulating you for being virtually indestructible. Enjoy."

"You're not leaving!"

"Yes. Tonight is for you, exactly what you need… a nice meal, huge soaking tub, some quiet relaxation away from Mother. Hopefully the massage will help."

"You honestly set this up but didn't plan on staying?"

"I told you…a room for one."

"At least come back tonight? Have dinner with me?"

"You sure?"

She nodded. "I'd like that very much."

"Okay," he looked around, "get some rest."

"Thank you for this," she said, but with a quick glance of his lips against her temple, he was gone.

Amanda had the hands of a healer, Kate thought. For over 90 minutes, the woman carefully worked on Kate, releasing physical and emotional tension. As some of the pain left her body, she found tears of relief forming in her eyes, and was grateful she was face down and couldn't be seen. Amanda stayed and talked for a few moments as she gathered her things, refusing to accept even a gratuity because Castle had covered it all. She also offered to return for a follow-up session if Kate needed it.

Finally alone in the spacious room, Kate took a little tour. The bed looked like a giant, landing-pad pillow, fluffy and welcoming, with a faint scent that in itself was relaxing. She found the tub, and it was indeed enormous. It would take a while to fill, and she knew once she got in, the only thing that would get her out was the water becoming too cold.

Her head seemed almost floaty, like the massage therapist had untethered her slightly from earth, and Kate felt entirely spent. With her robe wrapped around her like a blanket, she flopped on the bed just to give it a try. And before she knew what was happening, she was asleep.

Hours passed and she woke when there was a knock on the door. Peering through the peephole, she saw Castle. Although the robe was bulky, she immediately wrapped it more tightly around her neck, covering herself as entirely as possible. Scars, constant reminders of what had happened, were not beautiful.

Once she had covered herself adequately, she opened the door. "Hey," he said, smiling broadly as he looked her over. "Feel relaxed?"

"Amanda was amazing!" Kate responded as she stepped to the side to let him in. "Thank you."

"Any time," he dismissively countered. He put a bottle of wine in the ice bucket and said, "I was going to bring dinner, but I remembered this place has the most exceptional tasting menu and I thought maybe we'd just order room service. I wasn't sure what you're hungry for."

Kate nodded, closing the gap to embrace him. "What's in the bag then?"

"I had an idea," he chimed, reaching for the duffel and opening it.

He pulled out trunks like he was going swimming, and Kate laughed. "What are you doing?"

"You said you wanted to soak. I figured we could soak together. That tub's huge, isn't it?"

"You always wear trunks when you try to get women in the tub?" she teased.

"It's not about seduction. It's about fun. Now tomorrow…tomorrow is all about seduction."

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she said, "Castle…"

"I'm serious," he answered. "Tonight, this hotel…it's all for you. It's not about me or even us. It's about you. You deserve the best. Even better. I wasn't even going to come back but—"

"I wanted you to come. The hotel is great…but it's the company I really want. I want you here. And, if I can be honest…"

"Please do."

"I really think you can ditch the shorts."

He smirked, looking almost shy for a moment as he nodded, "Tomorrow."

"You really don't want anything to happen tonight? Nothing at all? We're finally alone again…"

"We promised we'd wait," he reminded.

"Since when are you the picture of restraint?" she only half-teased.

"I don't like to use my powers lightly. I stockpile my restraint."

"But aren't you at least a little frustrated?"

"No. I'm savoring. And savoring may have tense moments, but that's part of it. We're walking toward something…the same thing… _together_." He attempted to look very self-assured and certain, but then spoke out of the corner of his mouth in a hushed tone, "Okay, fine, a little frustrated," but then he raised his voice to normal speaking tones and added, "But it doesn't change the fact that I want to do this right. And as long as we're together, moving with the same goal in sight…it's nothing I can't handle. If anything, I feel energized. Hopeful. You've really built up my tolerance for frustration."

Kate laughed aloud, "Thanks?"

"Part of the fun. The greatest experiences in life are those you work for."

"Agreed," she said with a flirty pause. "I dunno…I guess I figured or, maybe I was hoping, you'd want to take advantage of the situation a little. I didn't think you'd want things to be completely platonic."

"It's not supposed to be platonic, not at all. It's about anticipation. Flirting. Foreplay. And, if you must know, I'm not entirely innocent here."

He dug lower in the duffel and brought out two other suits, although they clearly weren't for him. One was a bikini, one she would have loved only a few months earlier. The other was a one piece, but cut quite low in the front so it would dip to her belly.

With a wide smirk, he said, "You like? They're yours if you do."

"You're so confusing."

"It's pretty simple, actually. I've enjoyed these last few days…looking at you, admiring you without having to hide it from your watchful eye. It's entirely selfish. Besides, I thought it would be fun…close our eyes, imagine tropical beaches and fruity drinks…" he pulled her into his arms, "and hours and hours of pleasure and fulfillment just around the corner."

She took the suits from him and backed away, retreating to the bathroom. Both suits were exactly what she would have liked, he knew her tastes well. They were already washed and ready for her. She tried on the one piece first, and for a moment, she felt okay in it. Then as she turned in the mirror, saw the cutouts on the side and the low dip in the front and realized her scars were visible, practically highlighted and on display. Wriggling out of the first suit, she noted more ease of movement thanks to Amanda, and wanted to remember to express her appreciation to Castle for that again.

She donned the bikini, which was absolutely adorable, but still did nothing to cover her in the ways she wanted covered. She left that suit on, and pulled over a tee shirt, figuring that she could step out of the bottoms without removing the shirt if things heated up, thus remaining covered.

When she walked out of the bathroom, Castle stood, leaning against the back of a sofa. She watched his eyes follow her legs excitedly, and then screech to a halt when he found the shirt as his expression fell disappointedly.

" _I'm_ confusing?" he said. "You're ready to throw caution to the wind and _get down to business_ , but need a cover-up for your bikini?"

"Castle," she griped, "trust me, I would have loved the suits not that long ago—"

"Why don't you like them now?" he pressed.

"You know why."

"I don't. I've seen bits and pieces of what's under there over the years, and believe me, I'd like to see more."

"Yea, well things have changed. Now…it's just…you don't want to see that."

"I really do, though."

"Castle!" she yelled, frustration showing, "it's not the same. I don't look like that anymore. It's—it's—not pretty. It's not sexy."

"So tomorrow night, you're not going to let me rip your clothes off at the first possible moment, because I have _really_ been looking forward to that," he joked, but then seemed to realize just how serious she was. "Hey," he began, "you aren't really considering that are you?"

"It's just going to remind us of what happened. I hate how it looks," she blurted. "How I look. I've seen the women you date and—"

"Stop right there. You are so beyond, so much more amazing, and stunning, and remarkable, so…so much more beautiful than anyone else I've ever dated, anyone I've ever _seen_. I'm not comparing…but if I were, well I couldn't…because there is no comparison."

"That's sweet of you to say, but—"

"Hold on a minute…I've seen the guys you've been out with, unfortunately, and if I'm being honest, I'll admit to feeling a bit…underwhelming." Vulnerability flickered through him, so he teased, "Obviously none of them have my ruggedly handsome features…" He waited for her chuckle, then continued, "I'll admit, the guys I've seen you with probably worked out more than me, were more athletic. Think that's not intimidating? And I see you…I see the way people admire you. The way you're beautiful in hundreds of different ways every moment of every day. Like I said, you deserve the best."

She was overcome with the intensity of his words, with the unhindered way he admired her and confessed that same admiration.

"The surgeon said the wounds look good," he continued.

"To him…they're healing, medically speaking. He only meant they're not infected," she countered.

"I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do," Castle admitted. "But we've been pretty open with each other, and I don't want to stop now. I don't want some imagined, fantasy version of you. I want _you_ …all of you. And if you think some tiny imperfection stands a chance in the sea of hotness that is you…you clearly don't spend enough time staring in the mirror."

She chuckled softly, eyes searching for a safe place to land. Self-consciousness in situations like this was completely foreign to her. He moved to the arm of the sofa and took a seat, bringing her along and standing her between his knees. His fingertips ran slowly up her legs, from the spot just behind her knees to the place where the hem of her shirt stopped at her thighs. He looked up at her, those pleading, wide, full-of-life eyes piercing her shell.

His fingers hooked under the edge of the hem, and he asked with a look if he could continue. Her head bobbed, more of a flutter of her eyes raising than anything, but she gave consent.

Only his right palm slid up under the shirt, over her hip, exposing a sliver of skin there between the waistline of the bikini and the shirt. Lowering his face to that exposed space, he dotted tiny kisses from the jut of her hip and followed the line of skin across. He was as unrushed, as patient, and as carefree as she'd ever seen him. He was happy right there, like that. And she was enraptured, glued to the simplicity of their connection.

She tried to will him lower, to use the powers of her mind to convince him to cave and put that insanely talented tongue to good use. She'd had a sample of what sex with Castle would be like only a few days before, and was certainly open to feeling like that again.

And even as she thought those thoughts and experienced those feelings, she knew she wanted to deflect the sweetness of the moment. She intentionally blocked out the commentary about vulnerability and openness she was certain Dr. Miura would provide, if she were there. But Kate didn't want anyone else there, even in her thoughts, no one in the world but the two of them.

Everything about him, his touch, his presence, his actions, all displayed a depth of feeling that in some ways terrified her. He could hurt her in ways her truest adversaries couldn't dream of.

He raised her shirt a bit more, over her belly button, his fingers and lips offering gentle admiration and assurance as they explored. When he reached the surgical scar on her side, she felt her own body grow terribly rigid and defensive, but he simply kept going. He didn't focus there, didn't draw unnecessary attention to the spot, but continued on, adoring every patch of her that was exposed to him in the same way.

This went on and on, and she was hypnotized, locked in the thick connection between them, his touch slinking higher. She felt certain that he'd kissed or caressed every single spot along her tummy and sides and as much of her back as he could reach. The entire process was so strangely arousing to all of her, not just her physical body, but the entirety of _her._ It was a moment where the only thing she could feel was his love, respect and fascination with her. It made her heart ache in a new way, painful and exhilarating at the same time.

He snapped her out of that fog when he neared her bikini top and gathered the tee shirt in his fists to pull it up over her breasts, or maybe remove it entirely. The thought of losing that simple tee, that barrier that felt like a cloak of protection, filled her with a dread that approached panic. Her fingers roughly grasped his wrists to stop him, and he paused in his tracks, although he did not pull away.

As he gazed up at her, his chin resting at the dip where her ribs met, eyes vibrant blue and brimming with affectionate compassion, she could practically hear him questioning himself if he'd gone too far. It was that look that pulsated through her, that made part of her revile the desire to maintain space between them. Her grasp on his wrists relaxed slightly until she finally freed him, her hands coming to his face.

The feelings sat in her, heavy and intoxicating, her jaw going slightly slack as her expression softened. Then, ignoring that cautious, pragmatic part of herself, she did something far more terrifying than shedding clothing. She cast the armor from her heart because it was beginning to cause her more pain than protection, and she whispered, "I—I love you." The words came out certain and devout, not so much a sudden realization but the admission of a long-hidden truth.

It would have been easier to avoid speaking the words if she could have just shown him how she felt, physically expressed the feelings inside her that were struggling to get out. But these feelings he was provoking had filled her beyond the brim, occupying her heart, filling her from head to toe and all points in between, and it seemed inevitable that they'd pour over one way or another.

The adoration in his face dropped slightly, replaced with stunned confusion as he soaked in her words. "You do?" he asked, requiring confirmation like he didn't trust his own understanding of events.

She nodded quickly, then immediately wondered if she should qualify or apologize. Was it the right time? Was caving to the impulse to speak those words a mistake? Was part of him disgusted by her even as he tried to mask it?

"I love you, too," he said, more loudly and certainly even than she had. "I have loved you…for a long time. Nothing has changed that."

She felt tears, maybe of joy or relief, as she nodded and confirmed, "You do?"

"Of course. Absolutely," he added. His earlier admiration melded with almost euphoric joy. He seemed even more himself, that enthusiastic excitement he sometimes showed, and he added, "It feels so good to say it. I've been fighting the urge to tell you that every time I look at you. Every time you laugh. Every time you're worried. Every time I touch you."

She smiled, feeling such a broad myriad of emotions that she couldn't have labeled all of them.

"But nothing," he added animatedly, "absolutely nothing feels as good as hearing you say it. Hoping…hoping you mean it."

"Of course I mean it," she countered, almost sounding irritated, and he stood immediately to hold her tight.

Their arms encircled each other as they kissed, a hungry kiss that counterbalanced the pain of love once unrequited as it finally came to fruition. The hopes, fantasies and dreams becoming embodied and tangible as they touched.

The hurried flutters of passion eased, as he seemed to remind himself of what he'd been doing. Carefully gathering the shirt, he lifted it the rest of the way. His fingers traced the upper curve of her breast, coming to settle on her ribs between them. His lips descended down her neck and collarbones, returning the same thorough worship and reassurance to the places he hadn't already found, finally lowering to the flaw there, where the bullet had entered her body and nearly destroyed everything.

He didn't linger near that scarred place, either, treating the spots she saw as defects just as lovingly as the perfect parts of her. Those parts, those imperfections and reminders, mattered no more or less to him than all the other bits and pieces that made her up. Castle seemed to know what to say, even when he wasn't speaking.

He paused his ministrations, forehead to hers, and spoke. "What was done to you was an ugly, horrible thing…a vile act. But you…you aren't ugly or horrible or vile…no part of you is any of those things. You're beautiful. You're hot and sensual and intriguing, caring and brilliant, and empathetic. That act, that person who did that…can't destroy what or who you are."

"You're pretty amazing yourself, Castle." She giggled and added, "more than just ruggedly handsome."

He grinned at her, the strange combination of infatuation, love, and desire filling him with exuberance. Kate wondered if anyone in the world could ever be as unashamedly full of life as this man before her.

She began to unbutton his shirt, bearing the undershirt beneath, and her fingers gravitated to his belt. "My turn," she offered as she tugged it open.

He took her hands under his, holding them against his chest. "I'll go get changed," he rumbled, his lustful voice sending jolts of anticipation through her, adding, "so we can go soak."

"Come on, Castle," she groaned, lifting her thigh to press against his groin.

"It's one more day," he negotiated. "Just one more."

"Are you doing this just to torture me?"

"Absolutely!" he jovially teased. More seriously, he continued, "Part of me loves the idea of you, all hot and bothered tomorrow, just waiting until we're alone. I can admit that."

She smiled softly, knowing too well that he simply didn't want to risk anything happening to her. And she was still torn, half wondering if they should take advantage of the night just in case everything went wrong the next day at the cardiologist.

"It's confusing …you being the one with so much restraint," she teased. "I wish I would have known about this three years ago…I would have known you can rein in your impulses when you want to."

"Only when something is important enough. Then, and only then, I am a master of self-control. This…you…are important enough."

"I want you so bad," she moaned, seeing easily the impact her words had on him. "I want you and me…in the bed, or on the floor, or in that shower in there."

She brushed against him, feeling the urgency of his arousal pressing against her through his clothes.

"I want you, so much I can hardly stand it." He pulled away and went toward the bathroom, leaving her there in the middle of the hotel room. "Give me a minute," he said, grabbing the trunks and disappearing into the bathroom, "to get things set up."

She heard the water run into the huge tub while she waited. So distracted by the dilemma of forced, although temporary, abstinence, Kate forgot she wore only a bikini. For a second, she wondered if he was making her wait to distract her from her own self-conscious thoughts. If that was the case, the man was clever indeed, because she was so caught up in wanting and needing that she nearly forgot her other worries.

A few moments later, he popped his head through the door and said, "Water's ready," with a flash of his eyebrows and a devilish look.

The water was at that perfect point, almost too hot, so she had to enter slowly. It was so welcoming and soothing that the heat swallowed up her pained body. She didn't realize the extent of the noises she made as she eased in until she paused and saw Castle staring. His head was tilted, teeth biting his lip to grapple with the self-control he seemed to have so much of lately. As soon as he realized she was watching him watching her, he tried to regain his composure. "Feel good?" he asked, his voice higher in register for just a partial syllable before it lowered again.

His desire and interest reassured her a bit. After all, usually she didn't need to plead to get a man into her bed.

"Get in," she offered.

He took a spot at the other side, and even though he'd been composed when she first came into the bathroom, she could see his trunks tightening again before he hid in the water. She put her head back on the rolled towels he'd placed there, relaxing and letting the heat penetrate her muscles, finally allowing her to feel like she could wash the figurative grime that remained after the shooting from her body.

Castle didn't speak, but took her foot. Still under the water, his thumb massaged with such lovely pressure along the arch and across her heel. After some time, he worked up her calf a little, never even reaching as high as her knee. Although she felt frustration and still some confusion, in a thousand ways, she'd never felt better. Her heart was full, body relaxed, and she was finally soaking in her tub. Maybe someday soon she could truly put the shooting behind her, move on, live life again.

Kate squeezed her eyes shut, and silently pleaded with the universe to have mercy on her, not to swoop in and deliver horrible news or let even the chance of happiness slip through her fingers. She wanted this, wanted him. She was finally willing to admit that to him, and he to her. Beckett hoped to hell this wouldn't all vanish the next day.


	10. The Conspiracy: Chapter 7 (Post S3AU)

**Post Season 3 AU**

 **The Conspiracy: Chapter 7**

The visit to the cardiologist's office had been built up like a terrible abandoned house of horrors in his mind, so long feared as it loomed in the distance. Of course once they were there, it wasn't nearly so scary. The wait wasn't quite as long as it had been for the previous appointment. Castle accompanied her again, sitting by her side and trying like hell to wordlessly convince her that he'd be there for her no matter what happened.

This doctor, youngish for a surgeon, had good news in her eyes as she gave them the final words: "Released from care."

In fact, the doctor told Kate it was, indeed, time to run again, time to train, and that her heart looked almost shockingly healthy given everything that it had been through.

There was no bad news, no harsh guillotine chop or shattering of dreams. In fact, if Kate wanted to be reinstated as a detective, she only needed to pass the psych eval and re-qualify to carry her firearm. Even if she wasn't fully a cop again yet, she appeared to feel fully human.

She took Castle's hand once they were in the elevator, and the near grin that she'd been wearing since meeting the cardiologist bloomed. "I'm fine," she announced as the doors came closed.

He just beamed at her, her elation feeding his joy and vice versa. She turned, facing him, her look so full of so many positive emotions that he didn't even know how to react. So many times over the years she'd smiled with victorious excitement close to him, just inches away, sometimes less, and he'd had to hold himself back. He didn't have to this time. He kissed her softly, not the lust-fueled kiss that was probably long overdue given their wait, but just a touch to make sure she knew how happy his heart felt.

Her eyes glanced over to the controls, and Castle gasped with mock disapproval, and accused with sheer glee, "You're thinking about hitting the brake and having your way with me on this elevator! You are! Admit it!"

"No, I'm not," she countered so defensively that it seemed he'd hit a nerve.

"Yea…you were."

The elevator only had one more floor to go, and she said, "I'm going to be completely honest…the thing I've been dying to do…really, truly _aching_ to do…"

"Yes…"

"I'm not sure if you can handle it."

"Now you have to tell me."

"I want to go train a little bit, do some fighting, running, conditioning, go all out…really push myself, you know?" she asked, her eyebrows gathered with sincerity. "Just an hour or two. You don't mind waiting, do you?"

"Uh," he started, too stunned to really respond, and then he _tried_ to be respectful of all she'd been through recently.

But dammit he was dying to get this woman in bed, dying to spend time expressing their feelings without caution, and a bit hurt that she wasn't as eager to be with him. Then he saw the glint of a smirk on her face and realized she was jerking him around. He smiled back and nodded, "You almost had me."

She tossed her hair back flirtatiously, like she was beginning to feel almost as attractive as she truly was. That underlying confidence was part of what made her so intensely captivating.

Tugging the pocket of his jacket, she asked, "Wanna come back to the hotel with me and celebrate?"

"Very, very much so," he answered. And there it was, near thought-coma now that all he could focus on was her.

The elevator door opened, and she leaned out, still guiding him by his jacket and leading him into the parking garage toward the car. He stepped around to open the door for her, simply to be close to her, to make her feel important and cared for.

Beckett so often surprised him, and she did yet again, turning and shoving him until his back collided with the thick cement support beam closest to his vehicle. Her hands grasped at his shirt and the back of his head, holding onto him like a lifeline as she devoured his mouth. It was, by far, the hungriest, hottest, most urgent way he'd ever been kissed.

She felt certain, unequivocal in her choice to pursue him. It just made him love her more, made his heart and body ache and yearn to a degree he hadn't even known was possible. A nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that they should relocate if they wanted to keep this party going, but too much of him was wrapped up, powerless to resist or pull away. When she finally backed down, her teeth tugged at his bottom lip before her tongue soothed the spot, eventually breaking contact but doing little to deescalate the situation. "Let's go," she demanded.

Once they were in the car, he had to concentrate just to remember how to shift the car in reverse. She possessed him, bewitched him, consumed him to the point where he could think of little else. She got out of the car and circled to the driver's side, opening the door and gesturing for him to give her the keys. It was probably the safest thing to do, since in some ways he was intoxicated.

As they drove, he let his hand wander to her leg, fingers touching the top of her thigh and knee in a way that was nearly innocent, except for the charged sparks between them that would make a handshake seem utterly indecent.

He remembered little of the ride except for her, touching her leg, staring at her lips and eyes, watching the way she'd smile subtly at him out of the corner of her eye, tensions sky-high with expectation.

He had to get her to the room, had to have her, and allow her to have him. Absolutely anything she wanted, anything he was capable of giving her, he knew he would. Part of him wondered if he was a parched man crawling for a mirage that would evaporate once he reached it.

Once in the room, they both halted for just a few seconds, staring into each other's eyes as both pondered their next moves. This pause starkly contrasted the roiling desire within them. Beckett had a moment of sanity, or maybe she needed something to do with her hands while she planned, so she locked the dead bolt on the door. That sound, that _click,_ snapped loudly, ringing like a starter's pistol.

They launched at each other. She pushed the jacket from his shoulders and her fingers moved in from either side toward his shirt buttons until she had them all opened with what seemed like inhuman quickness.

He wondered for a moment if she was truly healed, if her body was up for this wonderful task, because he'd spent so much time operating with caution that it was hard to simply shut that off. It was time for their connection, their _love_ , to finally express itself physically, for the pair to figure out how two such dominant personalities could find a balance of power in a whole new way. They'd managed not just to be good, but _fantastic_ partners in work and in friendship, and he was certain they could figure it out in their romantic lives as well. That, he knew, would be the best mystery he'd ever have to unfold.

He placed his hands on her shoulder and hip, and pushed her back toward the wall, firmly but steadily. Anchoring one palm on the wall next to her head, he leaned in for a deep kiss, savoring the deftly gifted dancing of her lips and tongue on his mouth, jaw, and ear. He helped her out of her jacket, his hands roaming over the softness of her shirt, sliding over her sides, hips, and breasts, never lingering, just trying to feel the entirety of her under his touch.

His urgency was as plain as hers. She was his, and he hers, and in some ways the actions to follow were unavoidable, gloriously mandated by the universe, the expression of a connection that already seemed to exist in the world but just needed to manifest.

He'd dreamed of this, imagined, fantasized…like an adventurer searching high and low to find the object he'd sought, finally unearthing its secrets.

He pulled the shirt quickly over her head, without any resistance or negotiation. It now seemed she felt free to give herself to him, to surrender to this moment of culminating desire without self-conscious reservation. He wondered if he'd built that trust with her, or if she was just too damn horny to care about her scars anymore. His arms wrapped around her, the softness of her skin nearly against him as her arms moved beneath his dress shirt but still over the black undershirt he wore beneath.

She grabbed his button-down from behind him, tugging it off by fisting the back of the collar and yanking until he helped move out of it. Had he not been so dazed, he would have teased her about her manhandling of him. Damn he enjoyed that.

She reached under his other shirt, her forearms pressing against his torso as she slinked underneath to help him out of that, too. She whispered a hum as their nearly bare torsos touched. In that moment, he wished she'd tell him every thought in her head, whisper every tawdry desire, each amorous feeling. As her hands roamed his exposed body, he reached around her to unhook her bra, struggling to keep control of his faculties.

When the bra was finally off, she leaned back slightly, watching her own hands touching his body, tracing the shapes that formed him. It was so intense, so powerful, to feel viewed by her like this. He wondered if that was how she'd felt, being studied and loved the day before.

She kissed the top of his chest at the bottom of his neck, her touch navigating and roaming wherever it wished. Lifting to her tiptoes, she kissed him, quickly, once, twice, three times, just barely touching, and she whispered, "You're so fucking hot, Castle."

He just panted, mesmerized by her lips and the way they looked as she spoke or kissed, the way her eyes were nearly unfocused with arousal and desire, the way her chest moved heavily as she breathed. It was still staggering that the center of his fantasies could be looking at him this way.

"Give me a hand?" she requested, the tips of her fingers dragging down his back, the nails softly scratching and making his skin prickle.

"Anything," he vowed without hesitation.

She put her hands over his, guiding his palms over her lower back, barely onto her ass, and then bringing them around to the front and placing them on the closure of her jeans.

She looked up, the combination of almost innocence and love sent such a powerful surge through him that he had to bite back the urge to rip through both of their remaining clothes and wantonly fuck his way through the gathering storm of feelings. He loved her, more than he was prepared for, wanted to savor and make it last, wanted her to feel adored and valued and safe. At the same time, those primal impulses, rough, rudimentary, and powerful, propelled him to bury himself in her, claim her, make her his.

His voice was low and grumbly, barely speaking as he moaned, "You have no idea how badly I want you. How much I need to be with you."

"I don't?" she asked. There was that faux-innocence again. "Maybe you should show me."

She reached for his belt, gaze fixed on him the whole time as she steadily but unhurriedly slid it through the buckle and undid the clasp. That stare. Once the belt was open, she cupped her hand against him, outside of his clothes, feeling his erection, at this point hard as rock and thoroughly aching.

"And you," she alluringly spoke, "have no idea how badly I want you…how much I want to have you inside me." Her glance dropped to where his hands were hooked on her pants, and she leaned back again, just a little. "Your turn," she reminded.

His fingers felt clumsy and numb as he unthreaded the button, wishing like hell her pants were just snapped, or maybe tear-away. Her zipper, too, fought him, so he jammed his hands down the back of her pants and forced the zipper to let go. His touch landed on a handful of ass rather than panties, the thong she wore was not what he'd expected. He needed to see her in those before they were off.

He pulled her against him, still partially clothed, wondering if his frustration alone could expel the last few scraps of clothing from them like a strange, sexy superpower. His lips found her neck, kissing, nipping and sucking while he palmed her firm rear and pushed his pelvis against hers.

She moaned his name, a hungry "Castle," not "Rick" or anything so unnatural or forced. His name as she knew him, the man she wanted, the man who infuriated and teased her, who collaborated with her, who stood by her side until she wouldn't get rid of him.

He felt her hands twist and tug between them, opening his pants the rest of the way, her palms grabbing his ass and pulling him toward her, too. "Damn you're hard," she gasped, her words and tone praising. "And I'm tired of waiting," she commanded.

She put her arms back around his neck and hopped up, winding her legs around his waist, the main contact point between them was their groins. They moaned, or more accurately growled, simultaneously, both worked up and far beyond the standard excitement produced by scenarios like these. No, this was different. It mattered in a completely different way, with broader depth and fantastic magnitude.

He sat her on the back of the sofa, the same sofa he'd perched on the day before when he kissed and touched her without the intention of sex, and somehow drove her wild anyway. He couldn't stop pushing her body against him, desiring a closeness he wasn't even sure was physically possible, no matter how desperately they needed it or how hard they tried.

She reached beyond him, fighting with one boot she couldn't seem to take off. He groped behind his back to assist, refusing to relinquish his position between her legs. She chuckled with frustrated excitement, "Why in the hell did I wear these today?"

He replied against her mouth, "From now on, bathrobes and flip flops are your only clothes."

She nodded, too busy to answer. Together they managed to get the boots off, and he toed out of his shoes. They shoved his pants down together, using her hands and feet as well as his, completely lacking decorum or poise, swallowed up in this frenzy.

He paused to return his attention to her, his jeans still around his ankles, and she gently pressed low on his abdomen to move him back a step. "I want those totally off. Everything off," she ordered.

Damn right he obeyed.

She remained perched in place as she watched him disrobe with her untiring stare, all the while appearing far more inviting than any human should. As he returned to her, completely naked, he saw and felt her intense depth of admiration. She bit the corner of her lip, and he was convinced what was about to happen would indeed devour him entirely in the most wonderful way possible.

Taking down her jeans, he quite literally balled them up and threw them across the room. He brought her to her feet, turned her back to him, pausing a moment to appreciate the sight of her gorgeous ass in such slinky panties. Pulling her hair to one side, he kissed the back of her neck and shoulders, going down her spine while his palms outlined her silhouette, lower and lower until he was on his knees.

There were many stunning things about Kate, but her ass was truly a work of art. He hooked his fingers on her thong, one by each hip, and pulled them down, kissing the backs of her thighs, behind her knees and her calves before she lifted each foot in turn to allow him to remove the last scrap of fabric from her body.

He held her hips and turned her to face him, licking the inner side of her knee and up her leg. And she parted her thighs for him, willingly and unasked. Her hips tilted as she offered her body to him. His tongue moved with such loving intention that he heard her gasp before he even reached her molten center. When he was so close, so near he felt immersed in the scent of hot, needy, turned-on Beckett (his favorite scent on the planet now), he stood up.

There was a moment of fury in her eyes, sheer rage, as the thing she'd predicted was withheld. He enjoyed that. After all, why wouldn't he tease or torment her at least a little?

Ultimately he didn't want to irritate her as much as he wanted provoke more enjoyable sensations. His mouth returned to her neck, he couldn't stop kissing her, ravaging her mouth and breasts, neck and chest. Nothing was as delicious as she was. "Want a condom?" he asked, although he never paused.

"I have us covered," she answered, her hand groping for his dick as she clearly wanted this to continue as much if not more than he. Then she halted abruptly and asked with more concern, "Is there any reason I should want one?"

He felt her tense when he didn't answer, and it made him realize he should respond because she might misread his hesitation. He paused, lifted his face to hers. "No. No reason. Just…you know…I want you to feel comfortable."

"I think this is about to feel a bit better than 'comfortable,'" she purred.

He grinned, nudging her nose with his. "Anything you need…anything you want, just tell me." He spoke with the gravity of vows, heartfelt and somber, and it seemed to hit her hard. "If I hurt you, or—"

"You're not going to hurt me," she interrupted.

"We should still be careful. I'd like to do this a _lot_ more often, so we should avoid athletic injuries that may slow us down."

"I'm done with careful," she argued in a way that seemed to close the subject.

He moved between her legs, his finger seeking the heat there, the back of his knuckle brushing her cleft just enough to cause her to call out and hang on. Castle paused, offering a few tender touches and reassuring kisses, but it was as much for him as it was for her. He tried to remember it all, to calm his racing imagination, to delight in this moment. He wasn't prepared for her legs to butterfly out, her heels pressing against the back tops of his thighs to bring him closer. Her fingers wrapped one by one around his cock, stroking a few times with deliberate and anticipatory intent.

In some ways he was still dazed, but the brazen way she claimed him was something he was certain he'd never forget. She guided him to her core, her legs and one arm around him, other hand directing his sex like it belonged to her. His mouth gapped and body went rigid as she brought him into her, her arms hooking over his shoulders for balance and legs locking him in, merging their bodies until the union was entire.

He would have scripted poetic words, something to pronounce his fondness, to make her feel admired, respected and revered. All he managed to say was, "Damn, Kate," and an honest "woa" that made him sound utterly inexperienced in the ways of women. He wasn't sure if he told her how damn tight and wet and hot and perfect she was. He either said it or thought it. Perhaps he said so much more, or nothing. He couldn't even keep track anymore of which things were thoughts and which were spoken words.

His body screamed at him to move, both because he needed this, and because he wanted so badly to bring her pleasure. His hand cradled her ass, the other hand touching her side, both stilling her, pinning her tightly against him. He encouraged her arms around him, and carried her to bed, her legs still hooked over his hips, cock still buried inside her.

She had no mercy, kissing and touching and gasping with each step, her words deliciously naughty as she told him exactly what she thought of him, and how he felt, and the things she wanted to do with him.

He wasn't sure how he ended up beneath her (had he known, he would have taken notes and been sure to repeat himself).

Her hair poured in soft waves over her shoulders, just slightly disheveled, but still gorgeous. Her eyes were so alive, a far cry from the woman he'd first seen after the accident, so defeated and hidden safely away.

She stayed still for a beat, the pair sharing a moment of emotion in the midst of the furor. He cleaved to her narrow waist, noting the way it looked so small in his hands, and bit back the urge to move her body for her, because as far as he was concerned, his patience was nearing the breaking point.

"I can't even tell you how beautiful you are," he said, feeling the need to say such things because even though he was acting out of desire, the love never wavered even as frustration peaked.

For a cycle of breath she seemed taken aback, and she smiled, her fingers walking up his chest with such scarce contact it would have tickled if every resource in his body hadn't been entirely diverted to their joining. "I'm a sure thing tonight," she teased, "you can save the flattery for next time."

"Not flattery," he began, "in fact—" his words were abruptly halted, captured by her, whisked from his lips as she began to ride him.

She looked awfully pleased with herself and the way she silenced him. She'd probably been hoping to do that for years, but any self-satisfaction on her part was quickly replaced by her own excitement as they screwed. Her hips moved like a dancer's, graceful yet powerful, her core clenching and tightening all around his shaft, squeezing him as she slid their bodies together and apart. The firm pulsing of her sex along with the steady coupling and uncoupling of their bodies was beyond enough to make him lose the last vestiges of discipline.

He brusquely locked his hold on her hips, imposing his will on their pace. She didn't even seem to fight him. He sat up to kiss her, to feel her body more fully against his because it wasn't enough to be joined in just one place, he wanted her against him everywhere possible. Her legs curled around his torso, her flexibility allowing their bodies to smash together while their fucking never eased or stalled.

His touch pressed against her back, moving up to her shoulder blades against her unbelievably soft skin, crushing her breasts and tummy against him. But still he was restless, desperate to find more and greater connection because nothing seemed to be enough.

He felt her teeth against his shoulder as she moaned ever more loudly in satisfaction. The fact that he was the one provoking these sounds only made him harder and nudged him closer to gratification. Quite urgently she grabbed his head and turned his face toward her, kissing so deeply and passionately that it lacked coordination. He'd never seen her so uncontrolled and untamed.

She craned with the intensity of the moment, her excitement nearing its crest, and he took those seconds to taste her neck and chest, to nibble hungrily at a breast, and those added touches drove her over.

As she came, he felt that surge of power as he, too, neared. It was every bit as powerful as the flood of adrenaline that allowed people to lift cars or perform other such feats of strength in times of need. He lifted her and flipped them over, wanting to plunge his body endlessly into hers, to disappear in her, to feel the pulsing of her body around his as they rode this wave together.

It was all a blur except for the explosion of sheer indulgence, the feeling of reaching destiny physically and emotionally, finally having _this_ woman that he felt so strongly about.

He could hear her sounds through the thudding pulse in his ears as her delight stretched. He could feel it, the strength of her hands and thighs and sex all gathering him and steadfastly refusing to let him go. He was needed. Wanted. Enjoyed.

He collapsed on her as the passion abated, both because he was spent and because he was not yet ready to abandon her. Her breathing, slightly labored, echoed in his ear, and he remembered her condition, and felt horribly selfish for allowing himself to rest so completely on her.

"You okay?" he asked, lifting his weight onto his arms. The incredible strength that he felt moments before had left him.

She dropped her hand shyly over her face, her long fingers covering much of it. She nodded and laughed, a reaction to the dispelling of what felt like ages of tension. "God, yes. More than okay. You?" she asked.

"Me too," he answered, groaning as he rolled away, announcing his body's disappointment at the loss of her warmth a little too pointedly. She followed, lining his body with hers. He felt her body meld to his like a liquid poured into a mold.

They remained there in their places, still breathless long after they should have calmed. "I do love you, Castle," she declared as sincerely as if she were under oath.

For a moment, he wondered if her words were about to precede something greatly disappointing, and he wasn't sure if he possessed the defenses to protect himself in that moment. "I do love you," he replied warily. "Is…something wrong?"

She chuckled, her hand on his chest and leg draped over his thigh. "No. Nothing is wrong."

"Good." He closed his eyes and allowed his arm to relax heavily on her hip, taking a breath as he realized the apocalypse would not follow their first time together.

"But someone is obviously dying to talk to you," she noted, "and it's really annoying."

"What? Who?"

"I won't be offended if you check."

"What?" he said yet again, still groggy and slow in the wake of their encounter.

"Your phone, Castle," Beckett announced as she laughed.

"Oh." He lifted his head and looked around the room, lacking the drive to resolve that particular issue for the time being. "I'll get it later."

She settled against him again, then giggled after a minute or two, "It's buzzing again."

"Let it go," he chuckled, smiling gently at her. A few seconds later, he realized the phone was still busily whirring. Now that he heard it, it was hard to ignore.

"Maybe it's important," Beckett added. "They are blowing up your phone."

"Yea…I guess I should look." He used his hands to push himself into a seated position, his body still heavily relaxed. "Damnit," he grumbled. "It's probably Mother. I told her I'd let her know how your appointment went but I forgot. I got a little distracted when we left."

He rose, taking the sheet for a modicum of privacy. He couldn't seem to find his pants in order to locate his phone. Beckett stood on the bed, walking across it with such lightness and ease that he wondered if her feet even touched the mattress. She hopped down over the edge. It was amazing how much more healed her body seemed just from hearing the news that she was okay.

She found his pants and retrieved the phone, handing it to him without even looking at the display. Offering a kiss, the slow, seductive kind that promised things between them were far from over, she slipped off to the bathroom and allowed him to deal with it.

Castle just missed his mother's latest call, seeing that he'd missed seven calls prior. Dialing her back, part of him loathed the interruption while the other part hoped to hell nothing was actually wrong. As was so often the case, his mother was loud and abrupt and slapped him out of his easy mood.

Kate returned just as he hung up and he winced as he tried to figure out how to tell her the news.

"Everyone okay?" she asked, sweetly.

"Yes."

"Good," she replied, gathering the edge of the sheet he used to cover himself and yanking him back toward the bed.

"There is…one little thing."

"What?" she paused, her face concerned.

"It's nothing big…Mother took Alexis to a _Women in Science_ thing in DC…turns out Alexis needs a letter of recommendation that's on her laptop at home."

"And you need to go get it?"

"Yes. I'm really sorry. She needs it by 3, and she wants me to email it to her. Would you mind taking this party home, just for a little while. Besides, Mother said she bought a little something for you and left it at the apartment."

"For me?"

"To celebrate your recovery."

"That's sweet."

"Yea. Look, I'm truly sorry," he began. "I know retrieving letters and emailing them to Alexis probably isn't how you were hoping to spend the day, and—"

"Relax, Castle. I know you have a family. I don't mind."

"You don't?"

"I may have…certain ulterior motives."

"Oh," he questioned, arms winding around her yet again.

"If they're in DC, we have at least a few hours at your place. Not that often we'll have your apartment all to ourselves. I thought maybe…you could give me the rest of the tour…show me your bedroom?"

"Yes," he nodded instantaneously. "That's an excellent idea."

* * *

The two drove back to Castle's apartment, the tension relieved for only a blip in time before they were again tempted by each other, the excitement of love and new passion flaming their desire. The made it into the apartment, just barely, before they were making out, pawing at each other's clothes.

"Let me send that email. Quickly. So, so quickly. Then I'm all yours," he determinedly whispered until he was distracted again by the woman before him.

"I'll be right here," she replied, slowly slinking out of her jacket and beginning to unbutton her shirt ever so slowly.

He tilted his head, frozen in place, and just as she was about to remind him of the task at hand, a strange and confused cacophony of noises emanated from the other end of the apartment. The sounds included a polite cough, and a very teen-like and disgusted "Dad!" that was somehow short and sharp but multisyllabic at the same time. Then he heard, "Richard, darling…" come through loud and clear as the lights came up, and several people announced in uncoordinated chorus, "Welcome back," as they unrolled a banner and produced balloons.

Beckett looked at him, shock and uncertainty on her face as she stated the obvious. "It's a surprise welcome back party."

"Of course it is," he nodded awkwardly. "How nice," he forced as he looked at the crowd and took attendance, "of Mother, Alexis…"

"Lanie and the boys, and Jenny…"

"And your dad!" Castle squeaked. "How great! Beckett, isn't that great?"

For some reason, being caught by Beckett's father made Castle feel like a kid seen crawling through a girl's window late at night. He knew well enough that Jim Beckett didn't interfere much in Kate's decisions, but Castle knew he'd surely not like any man touching his daughter like that. Still Jim was calm, always even, and exceptionally hard to read.

Kate said to the group, "Thanks, everyone."

"Welcome back," Ryan announced, an _I-knew-it-all-along_ look on his and Esposito's faces. Neither saw the need to mask their enjoyment of this moment.

Lanie hurried over, hugging her friend and saying, "I'm so glad you're okay. And you're back!"

Castle watched as Lanie took Beckett for the moment. Alexis hurried over, a look of extreme unhappiness on her face. For a second, she chided him for his behavior until he said, "Hey, need I remind you that I only came here to do you a favor? You were supposed to be gone."

Martha approached with a happy squeal, "Richard! Are the two of you finally an item?"

"We _were_. Hopefully we still _are_ after this party," he nervously half-teased.

"I'm happy for you…if this is what you want," Alexis admitted.

"Thank you," he nodded.

"And I'll avoid any surprise parties for the foreseeable future."

For a short while he enjoyed the party, forgetting the awkwardness, and sampling food and drink he was pretty sure his credit card had paid for. Still, Kate looked happy, honestly happy. He found his eyes often trained on her face.

"I asked you to go check on her," the elder Beckett commented, interrupting Castle's staring.

"I know," Rick began apologetically. "I know this may look a little—"

Jim held up his hand to stop Castle. "Katie is an excellent judge of character. She makes her own choices…and usually they're good ones. She doesn't need my approval. I just wanted to thank you…for going and finding her. I was worried about her out there all alone. She looks happy and healthy. More like herself."

It wasn't exactly a resounding approval from Jim, but it wasn't disapproving either, so Castle counted it as a win.

"I didn't intend for anything to happen when I went up there," Castle explained, his eyes locking with Kate's across the room, and the power of her gaze was enough to stop him in his tracks. He knew his expression was one of utter adoration. He could feel his face flush. When he realized what he was doing, he shook his head and looked at Jim. "I—I was…"

Jim smiled, watching while the boys approached. "She deserves to be looked at like that…cared about. _Respected_ ," he commented, his hand patting Castle's arm before he walked away.

As cool and non-interventionist as Jim Beckett was, the boys saw no need to pull their punches or refrain from stating exactly what was on their minds.

"He already knows what happens if he messes this up, right, Bro?" Esposito asked Ryan.

"Of course he does," Ryan chimed in. "He'd have to."

"We're cops. Partners. We look out for our own."

"Guys, look," Castle began, cut off when they were in his space like he was about to be threatened.

"He also knows it isn't us he has to worry about," Ryan added, standing down.

"That's right," Esposito continued. "Beckett can kick his ass all on her own. But we'd definitely come out to watch."

"And laugh."

"Definitely laugh."

"Well, more importantly," Ryan added, "why would any man want to waste an opportunity like this one? The chance to find a meaningful connection, love and—" he paused when Esposito shot a disgusted look. "And obviously he should worry about Beckett kicking his ass."

"Exactly."

The three turned and watched as Kate crossed the room to join Castle, the pair locked in on each other in spite of all of the commotion around them.

Ryan whispered to Castle, "This is so great! I'm so happy for you guys. We should double."

The boys excused themselves as Beckett leaned her shoulder against Castle. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't know they were going to do all this."

"I know," she answered with a slight smirk. "I'm pretty sure getting caught by our parents wasn't the afternoon you had planned."

"Well," he said optimistically, "At least we don't have to worry about figuring out how to tell everyone."

For a second her brow furrowed, then she went with it. "True."

They watched the party, appreciating the support, and Castle wondered exactly how long they'd have to stay, but didn't want to ruin her party. After a short silence, she asked, "Any chance we could keep that hotel room another night or two?"

He turned slowly, eyes flashing excitedly. "Definitely."

"Don't we have that thing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "That appointment or meeting or…some excuse to leave? You're the writer, can't you come up with something?"

It took only a second for him to realize she was ready to get out of there, and he grabbed her hand and stated, "Damn I love you."

"You, too," she whispered, looking around to see if anyone was listening.

"Now let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

 **THE END**

 **Working on my Season 2 "What-If" Scenario. It's a little longer than some of my other hypothetical stories, so I'm not sure if I want to throw it in this collection or on its own to avoid confusion. Either way, I'll try to have that one posted within the next few days.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**

 **-JQK**


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